One Young Heart
by Lily Fairy
Summary: A lost man is redeemed by a determined girl, but the road to healing is long and difficult for Severus Snape. The dark side of the lives Lord Voldemort destroyed. Warning: Romance between a student (of adult age) and a professor.
1. The Castle

One Young Heart  
  
Author's Note: Please review! flames are good, feedback is great, and praise is splendifferous! so please review.  
  
Disclaimer:The character, the world, all belong to JK Rowling. And she deserves every bit of it. I'm just expressing my admiration here. Don't sue me.  
  
Chapter 1: The Castle  
  
Beneath the floors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there was a small palace. Red velvet curtains disguised a bed of lavish green silk, a room was lined with bookcases filled with books of lore and potions, a bathtub the size of a small lake was contained in tiles of violet and turquoise blue, and the ripples danced upon the walls, with their paintings of the founders of the school. An artificial atrium displayed its feathered wonders to a greenhouse heated by a nonexistent sun. A dressing room with elaborate bronzed mirrors and countless jewelry boxes with their chests of clothes quietly collected dust. An abandoned laboratory held old-fashioned vials, and a study was piled high with age-old records of times gone by.  
  
In times gone by, Salazar Slytherin had built his wife a paradise beneath the dungeons. A poor woman with beautiful eyes and a pureblood's forceful personality, she had lured him with her beauty and dominated him with her mind. She had never left the rooms until the day her husband abandoned his school in a storm of controversy, but the students spoke in whispers of a pale woman gliding out from behind tapestries and beneath fireplaces in the dead of night.  
  
Hundreds of years later, thousands of books were added to those left behind by the wayward founder, a tradition continued by countless wealthy pureblood Potions Masters, who came at the end of their lives to the honorable task of disdaining the muggle-borns and exalting the Slytherins, to die in honorable solidarity to traditions that could not survive. Jewelry and gowns were added too, and records passing through the ages. The passages no headmaster could find remained there, protected by the same Fiedelius Charm that hid the rooms, leaving the apperarance of only a meager keep for the Slytherin Head of House.  
  
But not for Severus Snape was the glamour and splendor of the secret rooms. He lived in the visible world, ignoring the beauty of the realm beneath. He never had been one for deceit, preferring wit and sarcasm to lies and betrayal. "You, sir, are a hypocrite" he had told his reflection, once, laughing humorlessly at the shadow life he had built for himself after Voldemort's alleged death. He was meant to be at the tournament, but he did not much care who won. It would be a Hogwarts student, he guessed, and he didn't truly care if it was Diggory or Potter. Though, if it was Potter, he would have to come up with new insults, and new vindictiveness. The boy could be a bother at times. Now, if it was a Slytherin who was competing, he would have made an effort. Severus was a loyal Slytherin, and Slytherins always did their duty.  
  
----  
  
Two years later, as the train brought students to Hogwarts, Severus hid behind a handy stained glass window and watched the Potter boy, arrogant in his sixth year, climb down from the train. That day before the mirror was a misty memory, shattered as the mirror had been, as through one of the many secret passages he heard Potter whisper "He's back. He's back. Voldemort". As he heard his life break and shatter, worthless, irreparable. Looking back on that day, he wondered bitterly how he could have ever been so happy.  
  
He looked away from the window, and so missed the brunette woman who climbed down behind Harry. A woman who was still very much a girl in many ways. 


	2. Alone

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 2: Alone  
  
Hermione took a graceful step down from the carriage, ignoring Ron and his unending questions about Viktor Krum. Taller, her hair tamed by a lasting spell, her nutmeg eyes alight with enthusiasm for the school and knowledge. Throughout the summer, Hermione had hidden behind Ron and Harry, being unobtrusive as she continued to amass knowledge of charms and curses without using her wand. Now, back at Hogwarts, she was eager to resume her role as resident know-it-all of her grade. Making excellent OWLS on everything but Astronomy, she had happily signed up for Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts... and Potions. The other acceptance letters had come en masse, but it was two weeks before the response came admitting her to the N.E.W.T.-level class. Together with Harry, who was absolutely arrogant now that he'd passed his O.W.L.S., she struggled through the difficult classes, dragging Neville with her through the classes he needed to liaise with Muggles, and trying to be terribly kind to Ron. Ron hadn't followed them into any of their classes, and refused to reveal his chosen career. Harry, on his part, was irritated by Ron's reluctance, and so Hermione did twice the work.  
  
The first month spun by, until Hermione was called for her secondary career advice. The first news was good: she must take a fellow student under her wing and help train him to prove her devotion to others. That was easy enough, Neville would be glad of the help, but the second bit horrified her: she had to assist a teacher for the remainder of her two years, and the only available professor? Snape, of course.  
  
---  
  
Severus staggered into his room, knocking over a desk and three tons of paperwork as he did so. Looking dimly at the topmost paper, he saw through eyes blurred with pain the words Severus- you MUST accept Miss Granger as a teacher assistant. I will not yield. He lurched past the desk and collapsed, fully clothed, on his bed. Laying silent in his room, he waited for his breath to slow, the pain to abide. Alone in the dark, he thought, as always, "Why do I do this? for myself? no. For the mudbloods? no. For Albus. Albus bedeviled Dumbledore ruined my career and my life and for it I gave him my life. For him I use myself to protect the world, and the old fool who controls it." In the morning, he will remember all the good Dumbledore has done, the way he saved Severus' life, and the oath he took. He will protect dumbledore, and lie about the pain, the fear. For now, though, it is dark, and he is utterly unloved. Utterly alone. 


	3. Day 1

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 3: Day 1  
  
Hermione Granger slipped up to the door of Snape's classroom, and knocked nervously on his door, stumbling slightly as she hurried into the room upon his bark of "You're late, Miss Granger". He sat hunched up behind the desk, his hooked nose bent low to the parchment as he graded an essay of Malfoy's.  
  
---  
  
Severus had begun the day determined to be relatively kind to the girl, and to treat her as any other student. In private, he always allowed his apparent apathy to Potter and his friends subside, though his last attempt at that had ended in chasing Potter from his office after finding the boy in his Pensive. The boy might have seen something important. Now, however, he had just devoted an entire hour to trying to pass Malfoy without completely abandoning his integrity. It was easier to help Longbottom than Malfoy, though that was because no one wanted to question poor Neville, while even Draco's girlfriend would like him taken down a notch. Bulstrode would never admit that, of course. Her father was quite pleased with her prospects, rare in a family that tested their children's magical potential by pitching them into a bonfire at age six. A very efficient method, for a family that produced its share of Squibs. Helped avoid unpleasant questions.  
  
Hermione walked into the room just a Snape discovered that he'd used Draco's first name in a note for the fifth time, and she froze in fear as he set the parchment alight and flung it into the fireplace. All show really, he'd retrieve it later, unharmed but still alight. Still, he thought evilly, stress relief is good, and I wouldn't want Miss Granger to feel comfortable. Not on her first day, at least.  
  
---  
  
Hermione watched the parchment burn long enough to see it was protected by a spell, then turned her worried gaze back on Snape. As always, he seemed completely cold and blank. He always addressed her with contempt, but gave no physical evidence of it. With Hermione, he was always coldly calculating in his cruelty, escalating into fury if she failed to react, while Harry and Ron received flushed, hissing fury without intelligence or grace of manner. Watching her stand silent, he narrowed his eyes, and hissed "Well? will you be leaning there all day, Miss Granger? or will you fulfill your duties at some point?" Watching for a moment, he seemed to decide that she wasn't affected enough, and added "Or will you be reading all day?" She had long puzzled over the tendency he had to attack her intelligence. Most Gryffindors were taunted for their bravery- no, Harry and Ron were taunted for their bravery. Everyone else was ignored. As only Draco was favored, and Slytherins in general merely forgiven for all faults. She had wondered about this before, the calculated manner with which he interacted with his students. She had even considered that he did it intentionally, perhaps to ingratiate himself with Voldemort. Part of his duties for the Order, perhaps? But he seemed to hate Harry so sincerely, seemed to rejoice in his failures.  
  
---  
  
"You may clean the supply cabinet, and return everything to its proper place, boomslang skin included," he said calmly. She stiffened, confirming his suspicion that she had taken it. Pointless, really, Dumbledore would never let him punish her. "You may go when you are done." And he turned back to his work, tired beyond belief, yet still forcing himself to grade paper after paper, mechanically. Act, don't think, act, don't think. The mantra of a life with no hope and no joy. 


	4. Snape's Feet

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 4: Snape's Feet  
  
Three weeks passed. Hermione cleaned, organized, tested potions under Snape's watchful eye, helped Neville, tried to keep Ron and Malfoy from terrorizing first years with their prefect badges, and applied herself to learning every imaginable thing about healing and self-defense. The complete and total lack of a DADA teacher failed to remove the enthusiasm of those who had once formed Dumbledore's Army, and they studied patiently every day.  
  
It had been a hard week of studies, and accidentally being turned into Cho Chang by Harry in transfiguration hadn't helped much. After McGonagall had led her and Harry to the hospital wing, past a Cho very surprised to see herself walk past in the other direction, Hermione snapped "Really, Harry, couldn't you forget your love troubles long enough to attend class?" and received hearty recriminations for "scaring poor sweet Cho!"  
  
Like it was my fault. Really, men were impossible, she fumed as she followed Harry to the lunch room, newly de-Chang'ed. "Well, where have you jerks been all day?" Glowered Ron, his overlarge body hunched over the table. Harry rolled his eyes and left, while Hermione said "Hi Ron, how's your day been?" with false cheer "Hideous." sulked Ron, and left.  
  
Four o'clock, and Hermione ran down the dungeon corridor at full speed , slammed into the Potions classroom, and gasped "Sorry, professor, since we don't have Potions today I forgot to come," thinking "Please don't kill me".  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Professor?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
Had he left? Where would he have gone? He was hardly a social man, and unlikely to miss the chance of telling her off. Raising her voice slightly, she called "Professor Snape? are you here?"  
  
It was then that she heard a low groan from a corner in the back of the room. Going to it, she saw a door and steps that had never been there before. Probably the entrance to Snape's rooms, but she was distracted by the feet protruding from the room, feet that lay in a spreading pool of blood.  
  
Snape's feet, Snape's voice, groaning as he lay prone. 


	5. Not Good

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 5: Not Good  
  
Hermione froze in shock and tried to get her head around the fact that her potions master, hardly the weak or fluffy type, was bleeding unconscious on the floor. "Prof- Professor, are you okay?" When he didn't move, she sat hard on the floor and thought everything out.  
  
If Professor Snape was injured, then presumably he had just run into Voldemort. That suggested that he didn't particularly want Madame Pomfrey to find him. And this classroom would be filled with students in two hours. Okay, that left one terrified teenage girl who had no idea where he lived or what was wrong with him.  
  
Not being one to sit and think about a problem overlong, Hermione staggered back to her feet and looked through the passage in which he lay. Carefully, she stepped around him, lit her wand, and began to explore.  
  
---  
  
Life was a bit fuzzy for Severus at the moment. Wherever he happened to be just now, it was hard, cold and definitely not bed. That was bad. It indicated a failure to remain conscious that annoyed him in the extreme. It was also rather noisy. His brain tried to process the sound- "Proffffff-" he couldn't understand. Fine, then, he thought hazily, if I sit still, it will all just go away. Assuming that I'm sitting right now, of course.  
  
---  
  
Hermione slipped carefully down the rough stairs, and gasped as she entered the main room of what its maker called 'The Castle' Tiled surfaces reflected the light of her wand onto thousands of books, more books than she had ever seen before. Silver ladders leaned on dusty oak bookcases, and a cherry table in the center of the room was piled high with the books and papers that normally inhabited Snape's desk. Continuing on, she found a hallway. room one sparkled with glass vials, but room two was a study of some kind, with a large couch. Turning, she fled back hastily to Snape, lifted him with a charm, and deposited him on the couch. Looking carefully at him, she found the wound was on his head, and cast a careful healing spell, fighting the urge to panic on sight of blood.  
  
Okay, good time to be leaving now, Hermes, don't want to get caught here, her mind said. Turning around, her hand still resting on the couch arm, she raised her head. And was staring straight into the eyes of a tremendous gray cat. She barely had the time to panic before she felt Snape grab her arm tightly, waking at the cat's hiss.  
  
Usually a pragmatic girl, all she could think in that moment, trapped between two evils, was "Not good. Not at all good." 


	6. Timid No Longer

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 6: Timid No Longer  
  
Hermione froze, between Snape's hand gripping her wrist and a tremendous gray cat staring straight at her  
  
---  
  
Severus was still very confused when he woke to his cat's hiss. Zaire never made that noise without good reason, so he had reached out blindly and grasped the first thing he could find while he thought it all out. A vague memory of falling unconscious to the floor passed through his mind. But... he wasn't on the floor. he was on a couch. His couch. And the last thing he could remember was Hermione Granger's voice. Which meant...  
  
"MISS GRANGER!"  
  
---  
  
Hermione jumped sharply before turning slowly around to face him.  
  
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"  
  
That remark seemed to have let off his excess steam, and he continued in his normal, poisonous tone "Miss Granger, you seem to be under the impression that your frizzled little head compensates for every imaginable transgression on my patience. You have no right to be in rooms. remove yourself immediately. I will determine your punishment later." Behind him the cat retreated into the shadows  
  
"Professor, you were injured, and-"  
  
He recovered his steam and went off again. The force of his enthusiasm destroyed Hermione's inexpert bandaging, and his wound resumed bleeding.  
  
"MISS GRANGER!"  
  
She continued as firmly as she could, her small quavering voice filling the moments in which his was not echoing around the study.  
  
"Classes would have reentered shortly, and-"  
  
"YOU WILL REMOVE YOURSELF-"  
  
"They would have reacted badly to your presence, discovered where your rooms lay, and-"  
  
"IMMEDIATELY AND IF I HAVE ANY SAY IN IT YOU WOULD"  
  
"Divined from your wound and your obvious exposure to the Unforgivable curses that-"  
  
"BE EXPELLED IMMEDIATELY. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT-"  
  
"YOU HAD BEEN TO SEE VOLDEMORT!!!!" Hermione, giving up on civilized behavior, respect for teachers, and decorum, screamed at the top of her lungs. Her words startled Snape, it seemed, for he staggered backwards and sat down hard, staring at her.  
  
---  
  
Severus Snape was flabbergasted. He had encountered virtually every personality type imaginable during his tenure at Hogwarts, but never had a student yelled at him directly. He felt the fury that had animated him leave, his automatic recriminations fall from his lips, the strength leave his limbs, and he fell back on the couch, staring at the timid girl who had assisted him all year. A girl who, it would seem, was timid no longer.  
  
---  
  
Hermione watched him sit down again, and, shocked at her own daring, said. "You oughtn't to have become excited. Your wound is in a difficult spot to heal. What happened to you, anyway?"  
  
Snape had allowed her to approach him, but upon hearing he question, he gripped her arm tightly, and forced her to meet his eyes "None of your business, you filthy little sneak. I may be allowing you to help this once, but I can assure you it will NEVER happen again. Good day" He released her and turned away the instant she completed the spell.  
  
Hermione stood up, but didn't leave. She had seen the look in eyes when she asked the question, and in that instant, she understood Snape more clearly than she had ever understood a man. Seeing the fear, the desolation, and the pain in his eyes beside the intelligence, seeing the sacrifice he made for them all, she made herself a promise: she would help this man in what he sought to do; she would help him survive. Thus she turned, resolute, to her teacher and said "You ought to have help, professor. Voldemort is bound to be more suspicious this time, and you may be badly injured or need help to keep appearing normal' enthusiasm reentered her voice, as it always did when she came up with an insane scheme. "I'm supposed to be helping you with your work. I can help you with this too."  
  
His expression changed from irritated to furious, but he did not yell. Instead his voice issued from deep in his throat, musical and fluid, as it did when he taught. Hermione felt with a thrill that this was the real Snape, speaking from his heart, without considering or choosing his words. "You want to know what happened to me, Miss Granger? All right, I'll tell you. I was told to poison Minervra McGonagall. Obviously that wouldn't do, so I said she carried a spell that neutralized the potion, but suspected me too much for a repeat attempt with a different formula. You know what I got for that, Granger? What I got for what seemed to Him to be an unavoidable circumstance, beyond my control? He flung me into the fire, INTO the fire, mind, demoted me, had me beaten with flaming brands, and then left me in a pit under the Cruciatus for three hours. I have no idea when he decided to break my head open, but I am comforted by the knowledge that it must have been very fun for that, miserable, worthless, cowardly little half-blood, who no one would have noticed but that he happens to be brilliant and apparently immortal. Does that sound fun to you, Miss Granger, does it fit your idea of a hero? Still want to help?"  
  
Stubbornly, Hermione hid her fear of the man opposite her, and exclaimed "Yes! You see, sir, that just shows how much you need help. You need my help. You'll never make it alone"  
  
Coldly, he said "You're wrong, Miss Granger. I will never need your help."  
  
As the door to his rooms slammed in her face, she quietly said "You will." 


	7. Rain

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 7: Rain  
  
On a afternoon several weeks later, Hermione stuck her head into the Potions classroom. When no one answered he query of "Professor? are you there?" She left a stack of graded papers on his desk and went to find Ron, pleased by the extra time off. It was rare that Snape wasn't there, but she had learned not to wait for him. He came punctually, or not at all. Out side, it started to rain.  
  
---  
  
One Hundred miles away, in a forest perched precariously on the side of a mountain, it was absolutely pouring. A dozen Death Eaters, Snape among them, were pulling, carrying, and generally forcing a group of muggles through the night. Snape slipped a necklace around the neck of one of them, then let the muggle fall behind as he disappeared into the portkey. It was the sixth, and last, muggle he could help this way. Grabbing one of the twenty that were left, he dragged harshly on his arm. A flash of lightning at this point revealed the imposing figure of the Dark Lord, standing tall in the exact center of the clearing. The tall, thin man was the only sight clearly visible to the terrified muggles, illuminated by a triangle of flames that burned around him. Other Death Eaters sulked in the shadows, backs curved, eyes cold, watching them. Most of the Muggles were too confused to understand what was going on, but one, a squib, burst into sobs and tired to fling herself back out of the clearing.  
  
Oh, dash it all, thought Snape, as he and Rosier caught the woman and threw her back. Why did I have to miss the bloody Squib?  
  
Voldemort surveyed the Muggles. "Only twenty? My, my I think some of you could learn a lesson in efficiency. Nothing serious, just a reminder to start things off properly. Let's see, Rosier, McNair, you, and you. Anyone else, do you think, Bellatrix?" Smirking at his mocking expression she said "Snape. He's always fun."  
  
He should have seen that coming. Bellatrix really preferred men who married her daughter, as opposed to those that ran the other way. The fact that the girl had entered into six marriages during the Dark Lord's rise alone didn't seem to bother her much. But it took a lot to anger Bellatrix. For example, teaching a boy who used Voldemort's name and not trying to kill him was an excellent way to irritate her. Well, it couldn't be helped now.  
  
---  
  
It was sunday morning before he got back to his rooms. He had intended to jump straight into the bathtub to rinse himself of the Squib's blood, but halfway down the stairs his legs gave out, and he staggered woozily into his workroom and fell into a table replete with vials of Wolfsbane potion, sending ot flying into a cabinet. By the time the sky had ceased to rain glass shards, Severus was covered in more than the woman's blood. There's that famous Snape family luck again, he thought irritably. The one place I fall is filled with caustic goo. And unless I'm mistaken, that's my lesson plan covered in it. Yeah Severus. Fifteen points, for that one. Zaire leapt into the room, and her feline howls drove the sarcastic humor that was his last attempt to preserve sanity right out of his head. Having extricated herself from the potion before it managed to eat through her paws, she gave her owner a look clearly intended to communicate her opinion of him and what he was doing to the floor.  
  
Zaire had been Voldemort's cat, left behind on his disappearance, and, as Snape had no need to conceal his ties to the Dark Lord and his affection for cats, he had taken her to the school. Unfortunately, Zaire was more of a little hellion than a normal cat. Upon arrival, she had seized control of his rooms, and tried to evict him. Three years later they had reached an uneasy peace, and she guarded his rooms from all unfriendly intrusions in return for food. Nonetheless, she had retained a deep sense of propriety, and took any damage to her adopted kingdom badly. None of this would have mattered at all to Severus, of course, except that the cat was now on the mantelpiece over the workroom fire, propelling pictures, books and a bottle of the powder that allowed inter-fire conversations down onto his head.  
  
Staggering upwards, Severus took a completely off-target swipe at the cat, knocked down a clock, looked in the mirror, and sat down again, hard. The shattered clock stared up at him, reminding him wordlessly of a staff meeting in three hours. He watched the clock for half an hour before, made uncoordinated by the pain of torture supplemented by glass shards, picture frames and acid, he tossed a handful of the fallen powder into the fireplace, and gasped "Miss...Hermione...Granger".  
  
---  
  
Hermione had been sitting by Ron for the past three hours. Unexpectedly, he had come up to her, and asked to talk to her, before sitting down and sobbing out "Hermione, why does Harry hate me so much?" Hermione had been sitting next to him ever since, trying to convince him Harry was just emotional. "No, its different, he won't talk to me, and he made a dig at me about my way with girls yesterday." His voice was suddenly hard "Like he's so good with that stuff himself" Before she could convince him tat Harry was upset about Ron's isolation, and his inability to divine the cause, they discussed his money, the prefectship, Fred and George, Voldemort, and the summer. "He's just upset that you won't talk to him, Ron, he just wants to know what you're going to do, what you are doing now." Her curiosity overcame her, and she asked "What are you doing now?" Ron stared at her, and then mumbled "I'm studying magical theory. The classes are obscure. You have to get very good O.W.L.S." Seeing her curiosity, he whispered, sounding almost desperate, "Hermione, you don't know what it was like to touch all that knowledge in the Department of Mysteries. I have to learn more; I have to experience more; I have to know what that feels like again. I can't explain that to Harry; Harry could never understand that. He finds a place, and he works until he fits in it. He could never understand the idea of never fitting anywhere again." Silence stretched between them; but in that moment, Hermione understood that he had always been brilliant and determined, however little he might want to admit it.  
  
Before she could respond, Snape's voice rasped from the fireplace. "Miss Granger, I wonder if I could borrow your services for a moment." a pause. "it would seem that," he continued, in a voice that barely concealed his pain, "I was wrong." 


	8. Redemption

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 8: Redemption  
  
The irritation that had filled Hermione at Snape's intrusion vanished at his words, replaced by concern. She knew Professor Snape, and it took far more than a bump on the head to make him surrender a point... "Ron," she said urgently, "You should talk to Harry. He'll understand, I'm sure. There's nothing wrong with seeking knowledge, or with choosing the path less traveled. I'm proud of you." Then she flew down the steps of the library, trying to act nonchalant, acting like a teenager called into the classroom by a harsh professor. The roughhewn stones flashed past as she descended into the dungeon, and ran straight ito the Potions classroom, down the stairs of his rooms, and skidded to a halt before the gray cat that guarded the door.  
  
Two tremendous eyes stared at her, coldly and distantly. For some reason, Hermione felt that the cat was contemptuous of Snape and his illness. "Oh, move!" hissed Hermione. The cat blinked. "Let me in. I need to help Snape!" No movement. "Yes, well, I suppose that you get along with him brilliantly, don't you?" her voice rose to a scream. "Lurking in the shadows, only getting in the way when things are urgent. You probably do an excellent job of isolating him from everyone who wants to help him, just like that damn temper of his. Well, let me tell you this, cat. Everyone deserves a chance to be redeemed. Everyone."  
  
"And what of those who are given that chance and fail, Miss Granger? What of those who would laugh in your face, and kill you for it? What of those who take that chance, and are thrown back to the wolves, with ideals and no way to use them? You would save my soul, it seems. But do you offer that choice to everyone? Would you save Voldemort, if he came to you, or would you leave him to justice? Would you save the dark lord if he killed Ronald Weasly? Harry Potter? how about me, Miss Granger? Would you save the man who took my life?"  
  
The students in the great hall were returning to their houses, and their footsteps fell into the silence that stretched between them. Hermione stared across the room, over the head of the cat, at Severus Snape. His eyes were completely black, empty, heartless, but she could see a spark of passion as he spoke; and it was hatred, pure and simple. Not directed at her, though, she could see that in the sorrow of his face.  
  
Deep in Snape, bitter isolation and a sorrowful desire to speak, to interact with anything and anyone were fighting. The girl's apparent concern for him had inspired him with an intense desire to speak, to be understood. But no, she wasn't sincere, she was faking concern to trap him, like everyone else, like Dumbledore. Maybe even for Dumbledore. Bitter mistrust won, and though the only outward expression of it was a hardening in his eyes, but Hermione felt him withdraw back inside of himself. Feeling the tension in the room, the cat walked quietly out.  
  
She hadn't even considered what she was doing when she offered to help Snape. She had only thought that it would help the Order, that she wanted to help. Now, looking at Snape, she realized that she was not just committing herself to keeping him alive. She was committing herself to helping this man overcome his demons, to helping him be happy. Looking at his face, she wondered when he had last smiled; if he had ever smiled, if beneath the bitter lines and cold eyes there was a caring man or a proud one. Suddenly she understood why Voldemort was so evil. He destroyed everything. all beautiful things were crushed beneath his feet. Mrs. Weasly crying before the boggart, Harry miserable, Diggory dead, Sirius imprisoned and now dead- and Severus Snape.  
  
Quietly, Snape said "Get out, Miss Granger."  
  
"No, sir. You can throw me out, if you're strong enough, but I won't leave. I'll keep coming, keep helping. Drive me away if you want, sir, but I'm stubborn. and I won't leave you to your brooding, and you potions burns. If you look like this, I hate to think what you've done to that room."  
  
Hermione's large eyes bored into Severus' narrow, dark eyes. He knew she was right. The Dark Lord was clearly not going to protect him this time around, and he couldn't get by on his own. At the same time, a desire to speak to someone, to hear someone else's feet echoing in the overlarge halls of the castle filled him.  
  
The Potion Master dropped his gaze from Hermione's, and she could hear his voice issue from beneath the mass of his hair. "Very well, Miss Granger. It would seem that we shall be working together for now." 


	9. A Muggle Future

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 9: A Muggle Future  
  
Hermione had cleaned Snape up, coaxed his infernal cat to leave the bed, and gotten him into it, still in what remained of his robes. He had insisted that he had slept in far worse. She would have liked to argue the point, but her energy was completely drained by the process of healing him. A half-trained medi-witch was hardly a match for a man who wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be healed. Pausing, she looked around the room, at the paintings and tapestries that adorned the room. A full-length portrait of a tall, pale woman caught her eye. Like many wealthy, blooded witches, she wore open-fronted robes over a floor length dress. This dress was exquisite, maroon velvet with midnight blue trim on the bottom and sleeves of the dress. She was proud and haughty, seeming aloof from her surroundings.  
  
Hermione privately envied the woman for her distance. She wished for that confidence, that sincere belief that she was superior to everything and everyone. "That was the power of the Dark Lord. He isn't such a great wizard, after all. He just saw a generation of young pure-bloods who were terrified that their time was past, that they were losing their right to reign over everything. And they were right. There are too many muggle- borns, too many half-bloods. Those who rule the world from now on will have earned it with intelligence, money, popularity, and determination. We'll be dividing into political parties any day now. A thoroughly muggle future." Snape laughed bitterly. At any other moment, Hermione would have been chilled by his apparent ability to read minds, but just then, her mind was on his words.  
  
"Professor Snape?" She quietly asked the question no one had ever answered. "Why did Voldemort decide to attack Muggles?" In the silence that stretched between them, she feared that she had offended him, that he would order her out. But when she turned to look at him, his face was thoughtful.  
  
"Why did the Dark Lord attack Muggles? Well, Some say he just saw the opportunity to gain an instant fan base, but I think he's just trying to prove that he's as good as the other Slytherins. Tom Riddle was just a touch too obedient for Slytherin House, and he was a half-blood, of course. They say the Sorting Hat sang a warning song for the Slytherins the year he joined the school. That muggle father of his was nothing but a disgrace to him. If the man had stayed with him, raised him, well it might be Lucius Malfoy that led the Death Eaters. But the Dark Lord, if you give him a cause, he can hold men together. Fear, coarse entertainment, promise of rewards, confidences, knowledge- he knows how to hold men's hearts. Besides, there was never a man who believed so sincerely that breeding was everything. I think that Tom Riddle left Hogwarts and started trying to run from his bloodline. Killing Muggles- that's his way of trying to prove that he isn't one, that he has left that part of him behind. And he's convinced the world, but he can't convince himself. He's just a flawed man, Miss Granger." A sudden note of irony entered his voice "rather like me, but he never fell for all that stuff about justice and redemption. Now return to your dormitory, Miss Granger. We will clean the laboratory tomorrow." Hermione left the room, and so she didn't see him swallow one of the bottles of potion that sat on the polished oak of the bedside table. 


	10. The War of the Worlds

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 10: The War of the Worlds  
  
Hermione reached Gryfindor Tower at midnight, and discovered that a good approximation of the war of the worlds had broken out. Harry and Ron were standing opposite each other; Harry red faced and gasping, wand clasped in his hand; Ron pale and frightened, his wand still tucked away. Vases, textbooks, and chairs were overturned in various corners of the room, with a good collection scattered around Ron's feet. All of Ron's irritation was gone, as his argumentative side always disappeared in a conflict; Harry was in full swing, shouting and breaking things, letting off his forceful personality the only way he could. As Hermione entered, she saw a group of simultaneously frightened and fascinated first years watching their hero and his best friend dukeing it out. It took Hermione, exhausted from her time with Snape, a second to figure out what they were fighting about. Harry cleared that up quickly "How could you abandon me, Ron? What, I suppose you think you're too good to be friends with Harry Potter, hunh? Sick of riding on my coattails, is that it? going off to discover the secrets of time and space, huh? Or maybe you'll throw people into that veil, and see what happens? Bet you'd think that was fun!"  
  
Hermione wanted to scream, to run between the boys and tell Harry how mean he was being, how it wasn't fair to Ron, who'd always taken care to avoid that very thing, that Ron was jealous all the time, but never let Harry know, he'd always run to her instead. But she could see that Harry was off, was letting loose his personal demons. At the mention of the veil, he got a sick look in his eyes, knew, perhaps, that he'd gone too far, but he didn't stop. "You didn't have to worry Ron, you could've told me, we both know that you are smarter than me, after all, you are a prefect, aren't you? Ickle Ronniekins, all grown up. Well, in case you care, Ron, I'd have liked to know that I was losing my friend." Ron had started to speak, but at Harry's final dig, he turned pure white, and, when he looked about to faint, he whispered "I wish I'd known that, Harry. I just thought you'd laugh at me, but if I had known you would get mad I'd have taken Auror lessons with you. I didn't mean to be cruel, but f you think I'm hanging on your coattails, well, I'll just stay out of your way." His strength seemingly exhausted, he sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands.  
  
Hermione wanted to help them, but she sensed that they had to be left alone in this, that she would have to pick sides. And it wouldn't be fair to support Ron. Harry had had a rough few years, and he just needed support. Just then, she felt deathly tired of conflict and sorrow. Silently, she walked between the boys, past the first years, who were now in shock, and climbed the stairs to her dormitory. Behind her, Harry was beggining to understand what he had said to Ron, but unable to take it back. Was this what Voldemort did to people? he wondered frantically. Drove them apart until they had no one to turn to, and then watched them fall to pieces? in the end, he saw no choice but to turn and walk back up the stairs to the dormitory, shooting the first years a death glare as he went. Ron remained in the common room for some time after their footsteps died away. 


	11. An Unfortunately Animate Box

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 11: An Unfortunately Animate Box  
  
Hermione was exhausted. Immediately after waking the next morning, she had grabbed a bite of toast and headed to Snape's classroom again. Entering through the door that he had opened for her, she found the laboratory cleaned, and the Potions Master seated upon the floor of the room below it, looking quizzically up at the hole, which had widened to include nearly the entire room as the Wolfsbane Potion ate at it all night. Having no idea where the stairs were, Hermione jumped down behind him. He didn't turn, but asked quietly "Miss Granger, why did you not run to the Headmaster upon discovering me?" Hermione swallowed. She didn't really know herself. "Well," she said gently, uncertain how he would respond to teasing, "I thought that Harry would find out, and spend a week asking why I didn't leave you to die, sir." "Ha, Ha, Miss Granger. Answer the question."  
  
Okay, so teasing isn't good. She thought back to that day, then said slowly "Well, sir, I always thought you, uh, well, didn't like the Headmaster that well..." she started talking faster "you always seem to avoid expressing emotion around him, unless it's about Harry, and that doesn't count. I also noticed that you don't talk to him at meals at all and I didn't want you to get in more trouble. Besides," she continued, definitely babbling now, "They say that the mind is weaker to Oclumency when in pain, and we wouldn't, I mean you wouldn't want Voldemort to know, now would you? Because if he knew, he'd..." Snape turned around, with an indefinable look on his face. Not smiling she couldn't even imagine him smiling, but possible less distant, less neutral than usual. "Miss Granger, relax. Setting new records for speed-speaking will not influence my opinion at all. You are correct, as ever." The look in his eyes became cold as he said that, colder than ever they had been when he looked at Harry, and Hermione wondered again just how sincere his irritation with Harry really was. "Why, sir?" His eyes refocused on her instantly, flashing fire. "None of your business! Let me alone. Return to your dormitory at once!" Slightly, all right, flat out terrified by his automatic anger, she nonetheless managed an innocent smile as she said. "I can't, sir. I'm your assistant, and I'm supposed to be assisting right now." He seemed to realize he was beaten, but her relief faded as he turned away and told her to get the first-year potions and test them in his bedroom, as the Potions classroom was occupied by a club this hour.  
  
Hermione stormed into the room and roughly began to alphabetize the potion samples. She thought that she could halt his self-protective irritation simply by refusing to bow to his anger, but he had turned away again. If there was any way that she could make him trust her, she would have to find a way to keep him from turning away. Left to his own devices, he would never come out of his shell, but she could never tell Snape willing to talk from Snape ready to bite her head off.  
  
Above her, the proud woman's painting stared down silently.  
  
Severus waited until she left, then began to create new support beams for the floor, devoting the absolute minimum of attention necessary to the task. Who did that girl think she was, prying into his life like that? Silly little know it all, she thought that guessing one fact meant she had a right to know all the others. She was probably working for Dumbledore, trying to bother him even in his own rooms. No. He knew that wasn't true. Miss Granger was not inclined to follow authority figures when she had a mind not to. 'Dumbledore's Army' sprang to mind. Still, that brought him back to- how much did she guess? She seemed to side with him rather than Albus, so she must have a reason.  
  
Striding to the doorway, framed by the light streaming through the fake skylight in the hall behind him, he stopped short to see that she was still there, carefully testing the potions and recording the results. "Are you still here, Miss Granger?" She didn't look up as she said "Of course, sir. Where else where would I be?" She pointed over her shoulder at one vial, which she had thrown into the sample box. The box was bouncing and vibrating. "You might want to look at that one, sir, It seems to have developed some form of a lizard. Nearly bit my hand off."  
  
Hermione was surprised by his return, but more so by his next words. "Albus Dumbledore is a rat who would rather serve a handful of vague ideals and a corrupt politician than keep faith with those who trusted him. Lest you should call Potter in to save the day, you should know that I have no choice but to serve him, and that I, too, am possessed of morals. If you have any other questions, feel free to keep them to yourself. I have a staff meeting. Place the unfortunately animate box in the classroom, and go bother someone else for the remainder of the day."  
  
Severus watched her leave silently, then turned around and walked back into the depths of the castle, heading for the door that led to the staff room. He didn't know why he had said that to her, except that he was suddenly sick to death of pretense and false approval for the old man. He walked deeper into the castle, deeper into his own thoughts. Thoughts that were, for once, of redemption and trusting other people. Thoughts that lasted until he reentered the main school and its throngs of noisy students. 


	12. The Clock Struck One

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 12: The Clock Struck One  
  
Severus reentered his rooms, intending to write up his lesson plans for the next three days. He was halfway through the second year's depressant potion when the sample box beside him sprang open, revealing a multicolored lizard, which promptly proceeded to set fire to the lessons. "Bloody first years. one pinch of hemlock, two caterpillars. You tell them a hundred times, but do they listen? no." He grumbled idly for the twenty minuets it took to clean his desk back up, spelled the lizard back into the box, and made a mental note to give thing to Hagrid. If Severus was lucky, he might get to watch when the Care of Magical Creatures class met the thing. Put by this thought into a better temper than usual, he resumed work.  
  
The clock struck ten.  
  
Eleven.  
  
A second year got caught out of bed, and knocked over three heavy objects overhead. Filch's curses filtered down through the stone.  
  
Midnight. Peeves started singing his latest composition in honor of Harry.  
  
The clock struck one and Severus started up violently, grabbing his wrist tightly, trying to force it to be still, squeeze it off, separate himself from the pain of his eternal brand of shame. He staggered backwards. The desk tumbled over, papers flying everywhere. he suppressed a yell. Zaire hissed and spat, as she always did when his brand burnt. Peeves finished composing his new song, gave the sleeping school a rousing rendition. Severus staggered into the next room, tried to run cold water across his arm.  
  
The pain was gone, as abruptly as it had come. Severus froze, feeling every inch of his body as it recovered. In London, Lucius Malfoy rose and left his wife. At the Ministry, McNair excused himself and darted into an unused office. The Lestrange family started upright and vanished with a pop. The Dark Lord was angry. It would not do to be late.  
  
Severus threw a quick note to Miss Granger onto the desk. He hated to see her touch his private files, but he did have classes the next day. Skidding down the stairs, he grabbed his cloak and hood, then ran down the passage at the very end of the corridor. Running to death, and running to despair, as likely as not. The Dark Lord was very angry.  
  
Harry Potter awoke with a start, feeling rather than hearing the words that had plagued his sleep. "My lord, It can't be helped. The man would not speak. I had to kill him." "You had a full bottle of truth serum." "He would not speak, my lord." "Severus could have done it." "My lord does not trust Severus." The Dark Lord's voice turned even colder. "If you imagine that I trust you, you are very much mistaken, Jacques." He was amused now, his voice a hiss. "Traitor" Panicked, the man gasped "No! No my lord! There is still a brother at large. He was not there. They are twins. He may know!"  
  
When Voldemort spoke again, there was no amusement. Just pure hate. "There is another one? You knew this, and did not tell me? Severus wold have brought him in. Even Lucius would have brought him in." The man was truly terrified now, digging his own grave as he spoke. "The boy killed the man I sent, and escaped." "WHAT! He knows I seek him, and you let him escape?" Then, the cry that woke all the Death Eaters, unable to hear the words beneath the anger "SEVERUS! GET DOWN HERE, NOW!"  
  
Harry hadn't woken until the Death Eater had sobbed, in response to Voldemort's questioning "His name is George, my lord. George Weasly."  
  
Frozen in horror, Harry looked across the room to where Ron slept silently. If George Weasly was the twin... Then Fred Weasly was dead. 


	13. The World That Made The Man

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 13: The World that Shaped the Man  
  
By two o'clock that morning, the entire faculty of Hogwarts was pacing the corridors and their rooms. Harry and Hermione stood in Dumbledore's office. Ginny Weasly was in a chair, in a dead faint. There was silence in the room. Hermione studied the Dumbledore's face as he stood silent, waiting.  
  
A door burst open farther down the hall, and Hermione saw the minute start that belied the Headmaster's apparent calm. Professor McGonagall stopped just short of the desk, and, her voice sterner than usual, "Well, the Weasly boy is definitely gone. I looked everywhere. Ravenclaw is awake. Trust Peeves to get underfoot at a moment like this. And I got asked seven times where Severus is. Poppy wanted to know, for Merlin's sake. Poppy. The last time she noticed anyone who wasn't injured was the day that first year boy managed to incinerate the entire left wall of the Hospital wing."  
  
Harry, actually managing to ignore evidence against Snape for once, cried "Ron! Where is he? did he get....did it...." He trailed off, His green eyes wide in fear. God help Harry, thought Hermione. If Voldemort kills someone else he loves, he's done. Heaven knows he never got over Sirius. The Deputy Headmistress looked at him sharply, then answered gently "No. He packed and left, it would seem. No doubt he heard your story before you left the dormitory and left right after you. Still, we will have to find him." Harry had taken a sharp breath of relief, but now his eyes were determined. "I have to go find him. It's my fault."  
  
Now Dumbledore moved, fluidly behind Harry, gripped his shoulders. "No, Harry. You must stay here. You cannot hear any more. You have failed at your Oclumency, or you would not even know this." He paused. "Go to see Hagrid. He will enjoy your company." He scrawled out a hasty note, handed it to Harry. "Minervra will take you there." She swept him out of the room.  
  
The room was silent for a moment after Harry left. Dumbledore had instantly spun around to face Hermione, but did not speak. Hermione was looking at the floor as hard as she could, brain racing, trying to solve the mystery, but unable to pass one fact. Harry had let his guard down. Fred Weasly was dead. And Professor Snape had been called, by name, to their meeting. What had Voldemort seen? Nothing beyond a sleeping boy suddenly aware of his anger? The hate of a man? Or everything Harry knew or guessed?  
  
Softly and gently, as though he was afraid she would break, Albus Dumbledore touched Hermione's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was softer than usual. "Miss Granger, I regret that you are involved in this mess. However, you are professor Snape's aide. I must ask you how much you know about...Severus...This."  
  
"Enough." The voice didn't sound like her, and the tone certainly wasn't her, defiant and harsh, but she remembered the Potion Master's words, playing in a loop through her head "Albus Dumbledore is a rat who would rather serve a handful of vague ideals and a corrupt politician than keep faith with those who trusted him... you should know that I have no choice but to serve him." If the Headmaster was surprised, he did not show it. Calmly, he observed. "Good. It is better that way. I... don't suppose you knew of this meeting?"  
  
Three weeks of working with Severus Snape hadn't done much for Hermione's temper, or for her love of the Headmaster. She bluntly denied any knowledge of his movements what so ever, in a tone suggesting that she wouldn't say if she did know.  
  
---  
  
Albus Dumbledore knew Severus well, and he was surprised that he had made such an early impression on Hermione. Quick work for a man more likely to throw a teapot at you than confide in you. He had a pureblood temperament, all right. The Headmaster sat down in his majestic chair, and let Miss Granger brood. Quietly, she said "Will you be taking any steps to explain his absence, sir?"  
  
The Headmaster rocked back in his chair, fingers steepled. If this girl already did not trust him, then she must know something about Severus, though she was clearly unwilling to discuss the Potion Master's psyche with him. Still, he would do quite a lot to understand Severus Snape. Slowly, he answered "Well, it really depends on what you can tell me. I wouldn't want to defend the man if he is betraying me." Miss Granger voiced a sound like a steam engine exploding "Sir, you know that perfectly well." "But do you, Miss Granger?" She considered the question a moment, then responded with a question that surprised him with its boldness even as it made him think, hard, about a time he had tried to leave behind him. What had he done to Severus? What, indeed.  
  
---  
  
Hermione watched him closely after she asked the question. After a long time, he cautiously said "Well, you might say that I obliged him to recognize the proper course of action." A girl as intelligent as she didn't need that explained. He had done something wrong, and he didn't want to admit it. "You forced his hand, you mean." He looked as though he was going to explode, but then mastered his temper, and sank quietly back into the Headmaster of Hogwarts school again, tired, wise, and weighed down by many difficult decisions. "Yes, Miss Granger. I forced his hand. But not until he told me what the wished his hands to do." "But not what he intended them to do?" she asked the question as plainly as she dared. Provoking Professor McGonagall to get information was different from provoking the Headmaster for knowledge. He was a rouge force; there was no knowing what he would do. "You will never see a pureblood act against their own interests, my dear. They have to be forced, even if they hate what they have been doing with even fiber of their being. Severus hated what he was doing. But he would never leave it." "Some people call that honor." Observed Hermione bitingly. "Yes," said Dumbledore softly, "and so do I. But what would you have me do, Miss Granger? so the Voldemort makes fools of us all."  
  
Arthur weasly managed to fall through the fireplace and land squarely on the hearth rug, followed shortly by Professor Sinastra. Her usually distinguished profile was contorted by anguish, turing to embarrassment as she realized who it was she had fallen onto. "I beg you pardon, Arthur. I was in too much of a hurry to look where I landed" She helped him up, but the instant she let go, he fell down again and their voices rang out simultaneously "Albus, what have you heard? did you find them?" "Headmaster, I found them! But, it isn't pleasant at all." "Damn pleasantness, ma'm! He's my son!" And Dumbledore's voice rang out over all of them, imposing order in the midst of death and anguish "Arthur, control your temper! there is a girl present. Where is the boy?"  
  
As the others filed past into the floo network, Dumbledore turned to one of the paintings on the wall. "Johannes, run down to the Infirmary mural. Tell Madame that Miss Weasly has fainted and she should help her to bed. We will naturally communicate the news to her later." Behind him, unseen, Ginny Weasly opened her eyes, alert, tense, and fully conscious. Professor McGonagall entered alone, and the Headmaster guided her into the flames. On the edge of the fire, she saw Hermione, and asked, surprised, "Is Miss Granger coming?" Dumbledore looked at her steadily through his half-moon spectacles before answering softly "Yes. Any young girl who willingly defends a man as she did tonight deserves to witness the world that shaped that man."  
  
Mist.  
  
Darkness that would be expansive and heavy if not for the mist, present, terrifying.  
  
Claustrophobia.  
  
Cobblestones.  
  
Hushed voices.  
  
A pool of blood.  
  
Arthur Weasly crying.  
  
A figure approached at the edge of the mist, stopped. The wizards stood uncertain, wands out, wands lowered.  
  
George Weasly, disheveled, filthy and bleeding, wearing a t-shirt that proclaimed 'Weasly's Wizard Wheezes: The best jokes this side of London! Catering to all you're joking needs, practical and magical' in bright cheerful letters. There was a gash through the word London, and the bottom of the shirt was scorched off. Approaching the pool, he dropped his sports bag- Dimly through the night of horror Hermione remembered Mrs. Weasly's claim that it was a scandal, his carrying a muggle bag. Halfway to his knees, he froze, a split second in time, a turn of the tide. He looked oddly peaceful as he hovered there, bent, his eyes unfocused. Cracked lips whispered "oh, ah".  
  
Then he fell, knees cracking on the pavement, a cry ripped from his lips, wordless, soulless, animalistic and hopeless. He doubled over, cradled his twin, yelled his grief to the stars to witness; another life dies, loses the will to live; another heart is pushed beyond endurance. Fists beat on the pavement till they bled. Eyes were red, and hair was torn. Then it was over, George unconscious, bowed over his twin even as he surrendered.  
  
Arthur Weasly was silent as he stared down at his family. He did not move until the shadows deepened into further night, blacker than Hermione had ever known it could be. Turning slowly and hopelessly away, his shoulders bowed, he said hoarsely the only thing his grief could understand: "Molly. This will kill Molly." Dumbledore touched his shoulder briefly, then gestured him silently to the small fire built for the floo traffic.  
  
Minervra McGonagall rose from the spot where she had rested, sobbing quietly. Looking at her, Hermione suddenly realized how like the woman in the painting she was. Miserable, her heart breaking, she still stood silent and proud. supporting Dumbledore, giving her whole heart to Hogwarts because she realized that it was utterly and completely right. Unhappily she wondered what it would take to break that iron faith, and if Voldemort would manage it. Firmly, she lifted the miserable boy and carried him into the fire, to the Headmaster's office. Hermione might have wondered at this, but now she was able to see Fred's body for the first time.  
  
He had been killed rather early in the process, it would seem. Hermione's trained eye saw that many of the bruises and cuts that covered his stripped body had been administered after death. But he had still been alive when they cut him and ground salt into the wounds, when they cut out his tongue. When they had carved the symbol of the Death Eaters into his chest. Hermione stumbled backwards with a desperate cry. She wanted to flee, to fight, to scream, anything to end this interminable mist, this darkness, this despair. The last sound she heard before she fell into complete blackness was Dumbledore's voice, cold, old beyond her ability to comprehend, and more tired than a young girl could ever understand "This night belongs to the Dark Lord. Let him look upon his work, and be proud."  
  
Hermione was overwhelmed, and so she did not feel the arms that caught her, that cradled her with a fondness which would have surprised her were she conscious. She di not see the face of Severus Snape, shrouded by his Death Eater costume. She did not hear him murmur "Now, she understands. Now, she will leave me." He gave the closest approximation of a laugh that he had voiced for thirty years. "Now I'll have to grade my own bloody papers." His face softened for a moment, and he brushed a lock of her hair off her face, and his voice, too, was gentler as he whispered "Damn you, my lord. She should be an innocent. She did not call this down." 


	14. Heartrot

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 14: Heartrot  
  
Hermione came to in the Hospital Wing, in a bed surrounded by curtains. Extending a shaking hand, she saw the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall huddled in a corner, talking softly. They were discussing the plans of the Death Eaters in hushed voices. From across the room, Hermione caught the phrase "Severus will put them off the track... he will be punished... maybe caught..."  
  
She dropped the curtain and fell back into the bed suddenly. At that moment she was suddenly, sickeningly glad that he was in danger. Serves him right for joining those people. And he even complained about Dumbledore for making him help the good guys.  
  
In a bed a few feet away, George thrashed and yelled in his sleep, falling out of his bed with a dull thud. Violent and passionate in his sleep, he sat calm and passive awake. Madame Pomfrey appeared from somewhere to help him up, but when she asked if he was hurt, George stared at her with blank non comprehension and seemed to summon all his remaining strength to voice a monosyllabic "Who cares?"  
  
Professor McGonagall clicked her tongue sympathetically, then turned to Dumbledore and whispered "What do you think is going on? Why did they attack the twins? Surely they only had eyes for their joke shop?" Dumbledore shook his head slightly, as though the movement hurt, then replied "I have no idea. Severus will tell us when he gets back." To McGonagall's frustrated sigh, he added "There is nothing to be done, for now at least. I only hope we don't lose Aurther's help because of this."  
  
In his bed, George Weasly emitted a harsh, gasping laugh.  
  
---  
  
The small ghost town had been transformed into a maze of tents and men, tucked in chairs, sprawled on tables and fabricated beds. From the haze of magic that surrounded the camp, three parties appeared. Lucius Malfoy strode into the circle of fires, bowed straight to floor, and said "I have a list of the ministry officials who were not present today. Thirteen were absent. Ten had alibis. Arthur Weasly claimed a family emergency." He bowed again at the black gloved hand waved in his general direction, and spun on an immaculately booted heel before retreating to his pristine tent. Infamy suited Lucius, thought Severus idly. Arriving last of the three groups, he was reclining on a wall, and doing his best to manage noble sophistication through the mud and vegetation that had adhered to his cloak.  
  
A minor dignitary was telling the Dark Lord all about his troubles falsifying his father's records. Severus wondered wryly whose beloved son this was, and reflected on how fortunate Draco Malfoy was to have a clear path. Some poor people had to try so hard to betray their sanity and their country.  
  
The boy was sent off with another wave, and Severus composed himself quickly. Bitter humor was all well and good in the camp, with a hundred other Eaters ensuring privacy, but in the fire ring faces had to be straight and minds pure. He had never discovered how the Dark Lord kept the ring clear of interfering thoughts, but anything that happened in the ring was known to his Master. Unless you happened to be a brilliant Oclumenist. Severus cleared his mind, and stepped smoothly into the ring, angling his bow to emphasize his disheveled appearance. Voldemort watched him silently, but as Severus began to speak, he interrupted with a hand on his emissaries shoulder.  
  
Severs stiffened. Being invited into the tent was reserved for A) the very favored, B) the very condemned, and C) those who had very important information. Severus was not favored, and if he was as condemned as all that there was no sense in worrying. Therefore, Fred Weasly must have known something. Something George Weasly also knew. Something they would die for. Something the Dark Lord did not wish to communicate to his servants. Any way you cut it, this was not good news for Dumbledore. Pushing that thought out of his mind, Severus ducked into the tent, followed by the Dark Lord, sat in the deep chair there. The tent was the same size that it appeared from the outside, rare in the wizarding world. There was avery unhappy fairy trapped in a lantern that provided the light for the room, giving everything a mystical pall. Shelves held the owner's personal library, books that almost anyone would kill to see. A chest held the one hundred most deadly potions ever conceived, and a girl of the muggle variety was tied to the tent pole, struggling weakly. Those who were invited into the tent talked over the girl and under the fairy, cucooned by the Dark Lord's hate. Severus didn't even blink on entering the claustrophobic space. he had seen it often, before....Dumbledore. He took especial care to avoid the chest. He had stolen or created most of the potions therein. It was an accomplishment to brag of, but not when the vials rested with He-Who-Would- Not-Hesitate-To-Kill-Everyone-Except-Fudge-Who-Dosne't-Deserve-It. Voldemort heard the improvised name, and smiled. "I concur, Severus. Fudge certainly deserves....creativity." Not for the reason I'm thinking of, thought the Potions Master grimly, then stifled the thought. THe Dark Lord was speaking. It would not do to interrupt.  
  
"Severus, I have not communicated the nature of the information that Fred Weasly carried to anyone. I gave a general outline of the information to Jacques, my original envoy... but he won't be joining us at the victory celebration. Fred Weasly was carrying the recipe for a potion that would poison everything on contact. It is immensely powerful. A small portion in the water supply of Hogwarts.... would resolve many of our current challenges." "Heartrot, my Lord?" "So it would seem."  
  
"The find of a generation, my lord." Severus was horrified. Merlin be hanged, didn't he destroy all of those records the first time around? Had the Weaslys gotten into his rooms? No. He would have had far more problems than this by now if they had. The simple idea of Heartrot being found was appalling. It would be the work of an instant to destroy Hogwarts, every spot where resistance was fostered, anywhere muggles lived. What was it muggles called them? Biological weapons. An understatement, in the extreme.  
  
"What do you know of the Heartrot, Severus? I'm sure you know something about it, if you can name it straight off." Right. enter pet professor mode. "A poison found in Pandora's box, my lord. The vial spilled due to that lady's unfortunate distress, and the devastation can still be seen today in the form of the Sahara Desert. It is basically the antithesis of life, rather than a destroyer of it. When it contacts a live thing, it is immediately killed. Grass, trees, and the things that live off of that vegetation would be destroyed in a thirty mile radius of a site in which three drops were applied to the dirt. The insertion of a small amount into a river would kill both banks of a river clear until the point where it reached the sea. It is reputed to be based upon the blood of a unicorn, as those creatures are sacred, and should not be killed. If a drop is applied to a human's body, it will begin by killing the cells and nerves at the insertion site, the work straight in to the heart an brain. The entire process would take about two minuets. It is a thoroughly... efficient poison." He smirked, very much the obedient Slytherin.  
  
"And what did you discover about he Weaslys?" Enter completely lying mode, making it up as you go: "Fred Weasly was discovered where he was killed. George Weasly joined the party. He appears to have gone insane. It was analyzing his mental state that kept me. At present, he is insufficiently aware of himself to be persuaded, with or without the aid of Veritaserum. Arthur Weasly made a passing reference to his wife's sanity and departed. He gave no remark to indicate that he represented a group of any kind." "And the other children? McGonagall? Dumbledore? who found him first? Was Potter there?" "Potter, it seems, was unaware of your lordship's vexation. I regret to say that Dumbledore's training is succeeding where mine failed. McGonagall was not there. Dumbledore was visibly irritated. I do not know who found the boy. I saw no evidence of the young Miss Weasly, but," He hesitated. "The youngest boy, Ron, has fled the school. They seem unable to find him." He was endangering the boy, but it was Ron's bloody fault he left, wasn't it? Stupid boy, if he'd ever seen one.  
  
A few phrases of casual banter, an injunction to watch George, and he was gone. Behind him, he heard Voldemort release the girl's gag. Her rage, her violation, filled the camp as he casually apparated. Lucius Malfoy watched him leave. Something would have to be done with Severus Snape. The question was, what?  
  
---  
  
An eerie hissing sound filled the Hospital Wing. Hermione peaked out from behind her curtains. A handful of sand grains were swirling around in the center of the room. As she watched, more appeared, and more, until an absolute sandstorm was developing in the room. Slowly, it coalesced, developed form and solidity, but it was not until the final grains settled into place that Hermione could recognize Severus Snape, immaculate in his teacher's robes. "Well, that was interesting" McGonagall observed acidly. "Yes, well it beats the Knight Bus, doesn't it?" sneered the new arrival "Stick out your thumb and get your ear chewed off." The trip didn't seem to have improved his temper, thought Hermione. Dumbledore came forward to greet Snape, but he ducked away from the Headmaster. "You." he spat, and it was plain that if they were not in a school, he would be yelling as loud as he could. "You had bloody well tell me what Fred Weasly is doing running around with deadly potion recipes. Good Lord! Are you mad?" Arthur Weasly, who had entered some hours ago and had been silently holding Gorge's hand, rose and turned pink from the neck up. "The boys found an old hideout for Death Eaters. It had a potion recipe in it. The boys thought it might be dangerous, so they each memorized half of it and burned the paper. We wanted to take it to a potions master, but..." He turned pinker "But you think I am possessed with a sincere desire to help that imbecilic half- blood dark wizard" hissed Snape. "And if you haven't killed us all, you've definitely killed me, which should be some comfort." For the first time in Hermione knowledge, Mr. Weasly was definitely riled. His head shot back up, and he glared at the tall, powerful man before him. "Yes, thank you, it is. I can't believe that you can still be going on about purity of blood at a moment like this." At Dumbledore's mild request for calm, Mr. Weasly seemed even angrier. "No, I will not be calm! Listen to the little supremacist! And he's joking about a recipe when my son is dead!"  
  
For once, it was Snape who was calm, but as he drew himself upright, Hermione was far more afraid of him than she had ever been before. There was something terrible in his wrath, suggesting that he knew everything and was tired of hearing it. "I was not joking, Arthur. I expect you think that they have a brownie recipe in their heads, and that you son was killed because he knew the walking liability you call Harry Potter. Let me inform you that Voldemort believes your sons found the Heartrot potion. Perhaps you do not recall the pains I took to destroy the records of this potion previously." He spun, and now there was no superiority in his face. "Albus, you may recall that there was a possible recipe that I abandoned the search for, on your advice. Unfortunately, it would seem that the innocent refuse to be protected." And Snape retired to a corner, to watch the effect of his words.  
  
Hermione froze, horrified. Madame Pomfrey, who was in the vicinity, dropped into a dead faint. Minervra McGonagall backed away from him, hands clasped tightly over her mouth. Arthur Weasly was a green as he had been pink. Dumbledore had grabbed a counter, as though for support. Finding his voice again, he asked "Do these two boys have the only remaining record?" "No. I have a copy of it. I thought that it might be analyzed to find an antidote, and thereby a universal healer. However, testing my theories would involve the use of several illicit substances." Arthur Weasly squeaked "You see! You see what this man is doing! stealing our secrets!"  
  
Dumbledore, meanwhile, had hurried to George's side. Now, he shook the boy into wakefulness. "Do you know a potion, George?" he asked kindly. Getting no response, he shook the boy harder. "Recite the potion you know, George. Then I'll let you sleep."  
  
It might have been a ghost speaking, or a automated voice, when George began to whisper  
  
"3 Pints of Unicorn Blood,  
  
2 ounces of Dragon's tooth, ground.  
  
1 caterpillar shredded,  
  
3 lacewings,  
  
7 asparagus roots,  
  
12 Hemlock leaves....." 


	15. Useless Muggles

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 15: Useless Muggles  
  
Hermione managed to leave the Hospital Wing the next day, feeling as though she had just escaped a giant net. Saturday, thank heavens, she thought. Making her way through the throngs of students running straight outside, she made her way slowly up the main stairway, only to get crushed again as everyone ran straight back in. Outside, the potion Colin Creevy had been cooking on the lawn went up in billows of oily black smoke, which solidified into goo. Hermione had retreated into a windowsill to avoid the crush, and she watched as the goo, which completely coated a delighted Colin, began to harden, frustrating his best attempts to jump about.  
  
Professor McGonagall came down the stairs to find Hermione in a laughing fit that quickly turned into hysteria. "Hello, Professor. You'd better go get Colin, he's turning into a statue out there. I was just going upstairs. She made an abortive attempt to leap up the stairs, and McGonagall lowered her to the stone as she continued to laugh, sounding desperate and terrified. "Miss Granger," said McGonagall firmly, grasping both sides of her face, "You are not well. Go to your dormitory, and rest." The teacher's face softened. "You're awfully young to be exposed to all of this. Go and rest." Then she swept down the staircase, leaving Hermione behind in a swirl of robes and a rustle of what sounded vaguely like taffeta. The heavy door banged shut behind her, and her voice floated up through the window, voicing her opinions on goo, explosive goo, and the sort of boys who set off explosive goo and then get themselves stuck inside of it. As she moved slowly away, the great hallway fell silent. Hermione's jagged breath sounded loudly in the room. The minuets passed slowly, until a new tread could be heard, a tread unmistakably belonging to Severus Snape. "Get up, Hermione, Get Up! " she whispered to herself, and only lurched away, up and around a corner, just in time to avoid meeting him.  
  
Once she was moving the weakness and indifference faded, and she hurried back to her dormitory, anticipating several good hours of sleep. She was so absorbed in walking that she bumped straight into Ginny upon climbing through the hole. A good portion of the Gryffindor students were in the common room, muttering to each other. "ooh, sorry Ginny. I am so distracted right now, I'm exhausted." Squealed Hermione, crossing her fingers. Years of being left out of George and Fred's games had made Ginny very perceptive, and she almost never fell for Hermione's overly cheery escape mechanism. She was all the more startled when Ginny whispered "I know, Hermione. I was there, remember? and not quite as unconscious as some would have me believe." In response to Hermione's startled look,she continued grimly, "You don't think I'd let them chase me out, do you?" Her voice rose into an eerie imitation of her mother. "You are too young. You can't deal with all of this." If Hermione was surprised by Ginny's resourcefulness, she was amazed by the way she looked. She was a absolute mess, from unbrushed hair that turned out to be almost as frizzy as her own, whatever charms Ginny might normally use, To huge circles under her brown eyes. Her robes were wrinkled and tangled, though as they were an old pair of Hermione's, they were actually long enough for her for once. She caught Ginny's sleeve and pulled her back out of the portrait hole, where there were fewer people. "Ginny, what's the matter? Are you worried about Ron?" Ginny smiled sadly "You are behind the times, Hermione. Harry got away from Hagrid and went after Ron. And there is a rumor that He Who Must Not Be Named is chasing them. Bet it was bloody Snape as told them. I don't care what you think, I'll never trust him."  
  
Suddenly Lavender stuck her head through the portrait hole. "ooh, have you ever caught it, Hermione. Professor Snape just yelled fit to kill through the fire, that if you didn't get down there in two shakes, he'd let you have a turn in Creevey's goo." She giggled, popped her magical gum at the two girls, then disappeared again. Ginny gave her a small, tired smile. "You should go, Hermes. If I were you, I'd stab him, but since you have to help, you better hurry. I'm staying here. I dare say the Headmaster might decide I need to know about Ron soon and come after me. Though he may have forgotten that I fainted." She climbed through the portrait hole after Lavender, miserable, majestic, and forgotten.  
  
Oh, great, Harry. Brilliant decision. And then, a small, bitter thought, Why didn't you take me? Well, that was easy. He never took anyone. He just let them come to the door. And then he dropped them, like a rock.  
  
She was really too tired to judge, she thought. She should go sleep for two years, and then decide. Logical, intelligent Hermione, right? Wrong. She heard Snape's bellow this time, echoing out of the portrait hole, "Miss Granger!!!!" so she headed to the dungeons, cursing Voldemort, Harry and Severus Snape.  
  
---  
  
Severus was about as irritated as it got. As though getting the worst news in the world wasn't enough, He had been forced to listen to Arthur Weasly insult everyone imaginable, especially him. He went to bed at eight that morning, and was up again at nine thirty to tutor Draco Malfoy, which meant hearing veiled references to Voldemort's 'secret plan', and discouraging the boy's attempts to discover what the plan actually was. Now Hermione Granger wasn't present for her TA session, which could lead others to deduce her involvement in the activities of the previous night as well as indicating that she was angry with him.  
  
It's not as though I care, Snape thought irritably, kicking a chair. But she needs to do her duty, whether she's angry or not. Dash it all, she made a commitment to work for me, and now I- now I feel betrayed. Which is bullshit, he thought, anger renewed. The door slammed open, and a thoroughly incensed teenager stormed in.  
  
"Honestly, Professor, I was sick! There is no reason to yell clear to kingdom come just because I was in the Hospital Wing this morning." "oh, yes there is, Miss Granger. You are supposed to be helping me. The fact that you were not would imply your involvement. Would imply my involvement. You have a responsibility-" He was sneering as he spoke, defending himself from the blow he knew was coming. He was trying to find his shell, his protection, but he felt exposed, panicked. He resorted to sneering and condescending.  
  
"Yes, to protect you! But," She gave him a calculating look, "the question is, should I fulfill that responsibility? "  
  
"MISS GRANGER!" he roared, losing his shield, his head, and his temper at once. "Are you implying that I am disloyal?" Then he froze, suddenly thinking about that. Did she think he was disloyal? When he spoke again, he couldn't keep the pleading note out of his voice "You know I'm loyal, Miss Granger. Otherwise, I wouldn't trust you, would I?"  
  
---  
  
She shook her head in exasperation. "I don't doubt that, sir. What I'm asking is, do you really think it's worth it? Do you think that the little pieces of knowledge you get is worth the price of helping that man? Do you think that knowing the potion that Voldemort wants is worth helping lay Fred's body in the street?" Her voice had been becoming increasingly whiny, and now she was all but shrieking.  
  
"No! I...no." He turned away, walked a few feet further into the room, into the shadow. He glanced over his shoulder, and the light highlighted his profile, high cheekbones, arched brows and dark eyes contrasting with his hooked nose. "I think that the muggles I save, the innocents I protect balances out the work the Dark Lord does. Whether the misinformation I spread and the plans I communicate to our side are valuable is for others to decide."  
  
Hermione was past considering the justice in this argument. "So I suppose you think that it is better to save the lives of some useless muggles who will never understand what is happening than to save Fred Weasly, who understood and tried to serve the side of good."  
  
He spun around, and Hermione was suddenly reminded of how quick this man was to anger. He slammed his fist sharply on the table, and a dish shattered in a startling reminder that he was dangerous. "Yes, I do. Fred Weasly voluntarily participated in the resistance. The muggles had never even heard of him." He leaned forward, face obscured by stringy hair, voice dropping to a hiss that issued from the shadow of his face. "Have you ever seen a muggle die, Miss Granger? I think it is more important to save those innocent from the war than those who are involved, even if it be for the wrong side." He turned away, and dropped a silver ring on the table. "You can take this back to your 'useless muggle' when you go home for Christmas vacation. You may leave."  
  
Hermione leaned forward and gasped. Her mother's wedding ring lay on the table, glinting in the firelight. She looked quickly at Snape, but he had already left the room. 


	16. And It Rained

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 16: And it Rained  
  
Hermione sat frozen at the table for fully five seconds, fighting the panic that had soared in her stomach at his words. Slowly, she reached out and took the ring off of the table. It was cold, smooth all the way around- her mother didn't wear a diamond ring because it would not fit beneath her work gloves- except for a single rough spot on the bottom. She turned it over and examined the flaw, which had never been there before, as her brain slowly came back into gear. Then the chair fell backwards onto the floor, and she raced along the passageway of the dungeons. She caught up with him as he disappeared into a doorway she was sure was never there before, skidded inside as the door shut, and ducked his reflexive stunning spell.  
  
"Miss Granger?" "How did you know they were my parents?" A light flickered into being as she tried to untangle herself. Ducking may have kept her conscious, but it had gotten her completely mired in a scarlet curtain. Snape looked fighting mad when he lit his wand, but the look faded into one she recognized as amusement. He gripped her chin and lifted her bodily to her feet, though how he managed to do so without injuring her, she could not say. Raised above her normal height, she was able to look straight into his black eyes and had a sickening sensation of depth, of a cavern of eternal dispair which would bodily engulf her if she let it. "Guess", he drawled. Dropping her lightly back to her feet, he turned and started down the corridor. "Run along now. McGonagall will be looking for you. You have to deal with misplacing Potter. Though why that would be difficult is beyond me." Hermione shrugged off the remark and ran after him. "oh no, sir. i'm helping you retrieve Colin. It's my duty as your assistant."  
  
He stopped and spun around just as he entered a room lit by what appeared to be a genuine skylight, dropping smoothly to one knee so he could look into her eyes. "Miss Granger. This was not a intelligent idea. However helpful I may find it to have an assistant in my dealings with the Dark Lord, I cannot ignore the danger this poses to you. Your parents attended the wrong party at the wrong moment, but I had no way of knowing that that was the reason for their capture. I had no way of knowing that He did not know of you. They could have died, Miss Granger. Because of you. You are too young to appreciate the consequences of you're actions. You need to think carefully about what you are doing, and whom you are helping. Before you leave this room, you think about who I am. I cannot shield you forever, and I cannot accept your help unless I trust that you understand what you are doing. Unless I trust you."  
  
He rose again in a swirl of black fabric, and towered over her. "This is foolishness, Miss Granger. You endanger yourself and your family." His face saddened slightly from that of a trained aristocrat to that of a tired man. "I'm not worth that, Miss Granger." Outside, it began to rain.  
  
---  
  
Silence stretched between them for a moment, as Severus tried to watch the figure of Colin, frozen to the spot in the rain. The goo showed every sign of resisting the water, but it could have exploded for all that Severus would have noticed. As Miss Granger was considering him, so he was considering her.  
  
Suddenly, as though steeling herself, Hermione stood straighter, and asked, "Why did you betray the Dark Lord?" When he looked at her, she gave him a mock serious look and added, "No hedging. A straight answer this time."  
  
---  
  
Snape stood silent as the minuets stretched on, until Hermione's neck was aching with the strain. Then, suddenly he burst into speech, talking too fast, as though to say what he wished before a power stronger than he silenced him. It would be years before Hermione understood that his words meant more than just an admission to a teenager, but were rather a leap of faith, a move to trust as he had not trusted anyone in over fifteen years.  
  
"You have to understand, Miss Granger. I was sixteen. Sixteen. A new regime was rising. There was beauty and knowledge and glory to be had! He offered me knowledge, He offered me-" Snape broke off suddenly and spun away from her, striding to the far end of the room and staring out at the rain.  
  
---  
  
I have to trust her, I have to. I can't just stay here, alone, for the rest of my life. But all the while the small, sharp voice that Severus lived his life by was whispering Ah, but you've been alone all your life. All your life you've been betrayed, shunned, scorned. Better to stay as you are than to risk changing now. You were meant to be alone.  
  
Hermione looked round the room, fighting the frustration that rose in her throat. He had been so close to telling her. Glancing across the floor, her eyes met those of Zaire, and she started. Whatever Professor McGonagall might say about kindness to animals, she didn't like that cat. Lifting a pillow off of the couch next to her, she shied it at the cat, which disappeared in a flash of tail and teeth. Snape spun round and kicked a chair into fragments.  
  
---  
  
Severus felt a sudden stab of remorse, seeing Hermione's nutmeg eyes widening as chair fragments rained down around her. Temper, temper, Severus. You'll never get anywhere like that.  
  
"I......, I......" His temper flared up again. "I joined the Dark Lord, damn it. I never much cared about bloodlines. You can't get purer than a Snape. I could've married a muggle, and the Malfoys would have received me, for Merlin's sake. I joined the Dark Lord-" He stopped, swallowed, and Hermione saw fear in his eyes. "and when you join, you join for life. But the Death Eaters were different then, about knowledge, pride and honor, not death. He was a leader of men then, not a idiot with a complex about his father. It was a year later, when Lucius joined, that everything changed. That He changed. Suddenly it was about having something to prove."  
  
He closed his eyes, and prepared to take the inner step that loomed before him, the step that was, to Severus, darker and deeper than any he had taken before. The trust that had come easily enough 19 years ago was gone, replaced by fear and shame. I can't, he thought. I can't do this. A touch on his arm made him jump, and he met Hermione's eyes, saw the encouragement there. He stepped into that void of trust, unable to even guess what would follow.  
  
"He wanted to kill a whole city of Muggles, wanted to prove to Lucius that he truly hated muggles, that he wasn't one of them. He didn't have many craft masters in his ranks, everyone was too rich to bother with working, so he turned to me. He asked me- to make him the bloodrot." Hermione took in a sharp breath. "He wanted me to reason out the contents, and make Pandora's sin complete." He laughed, a sharp, mirthless sound that reminded Hermione suddenly of the way Harry described Voldemort's voice. "So I did. I reasoned out the spells, and the ingredients. I tested it on a group of muggles I caught in a little town." He swallowed. "The outcome was- incredible. Unbearable. I intended to return to Tom, tell him he was wrong, that this was bad, but when I got there, I saw- My God! I saw things no person should ever see, cruelty unimaginable. I saw that Tom would never stop, would never reason. I saw a man destroy his soul, his very humanity, become the Dark Lord. And I saw Lucius watching, smiling."  
  
Hermione released his arm, sat down on the floor silently. He didn't dare to look at her, suppressed the desire to beg for her forgiveness, for her presence, for the chance to escape the hell into which he had descended.  
  
"I destroyed the potion, the information I had, I took the only completed instructions and hid them, and I ran to Albus Dumbledore." He laughed the same high laugh again. "He was always the one kids turned to. So I told him everything. I- I'll never forget the look in his face when I told him. And all he said was 'what a disappointing waste of talent.' " His voice had trembled more with every word, and now he fell to his knees, buried his face in his long slender hands, and let his long black hair fall before his face, seeking again for the shield of shame and reticence that he had abandoned.  
  
There, Severus thought. I've done my duty. Albus will be glad, and things can go back to normal. To normal. Just where I don't want things to go.  
  
Hermione's voice was quiet when she spoke. "How old were you when you made the potion?" "Seventeen" he answered dully.  
  
Suddenly, everything seemed very funny to Hermione, the room in which they spoke opening onto the gray rainy day, the seriousness of the situation, the brilliant man fallen low before her. She laughed hard as she struggled to her feet and lurched a few steps toward they door. "Well, you are talented, aren't you, Professor. We'd better go get Colin, he's going to drown. That would be such a tragedy wouldn't it, especially since I'm beginning to think he's got the right idea about life." She surrendered her attempt to reason her way out of the shock she felt, and sank back down, crying as she laughed, crying for the souls ruined by one man's hate, laughing for the boy who hid from his fear of the deadly world which he did not belong to behind a camera and cheerful incompetence. 


	17. The Painting

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 17: The Painting  
  
It was ten o'clock that night when they got Colin fully extricated from the explosive goo, two hours into which his mouth had been unfortunately liberated. Attempts at sophisticated analysis of the goo's makeup had resulted only in a reflected breaking spell knocking Snape's legs out from under him and Colin becoming silenced with a possibly overenthusiastic spell on the part of Miss Granger. With Colin finally sent off to the infirmary, happily mouthing words held inaudible by the spell, Severus just wanted to sit down and read, whilenHermione had experienced just about every emotion possible during the course of the day, culminating in a burst of merriment at her professor's furious and largely ineffectual assault on the substance, which had nearly landed her in the same predicament as Colin, and told her that it wasn't quite time to mock him yet.  
  
Together, they sat down and directed their attention to finding a simple way of removing the goo from the trees it had covered, as the hours flew by. "Might as well name the stuff 'solution of Colin'." Snape muttered. "It reflects his character perfectly". Hermione woke with a start from her precarious perch on a stacked pair of stools, dusty with long disuse, as was everything in the room. They had chosen the abandoned honors potions classroom as their study for the large fireplace that illuminated their work, and as Hermione started back to her feet a pile of ancient papers fell to the floor and disintegrated, sending a fine spray of dust to hang incandescent in the air, framing her hair in a golden halo and glinting on Snape's lashes as they swept down over his dark eyes.  
  
"Yes, well there is no need to remain up, Miss Granger. Clearly, this problem will not be easily remedied. We will resume work in the morning." He rose, and lifted the sweater she had discarded on a tremendous sofa that looked oddly incongruous in the classroom setting. As Hermione slipped her arm into the sweater, she glanced higher on the wall- and paused, interested. High on the wall, far enough up that her head was all but hidden in the oak beams of the sealing, hung the mirror image of the woman she had seen in the castle.  
  
She was stern, as before, an old fashioned dowager glowering out on a world she seemed to have no part in. In this image she wore simple, austere black. A single white feather, absurdly large, stuck out of her hat, contrasting with her small sharp nose to give the impression of a beak. Her hands, wrinkled and old, were extended before her, as though to reveal a secret delight known only to her. Hermione stood, neck craned back to gaze up at the woman, sweater dangling from one arm in an eerie parody of a small girl staring at an image whose import eluded her.  
  
Quietly, she turned her head a fraction of an inch, eyes never leaving those of the woman, to ask Snape, "Who was she?" He stirred, a tiny rustle of fabric sending ripples of sound before he spoke ina voice softened to include- was it respect? Hermione could not be sure. "She was Marie Slytherin. The school's founder built the rooms we call the castle for her. She never left them. She wasn't a normal woman. They say she converted to Puritanism, decided that magic was bad, just before she died, that Slytherin killed her for it. They say that her pictures won't move out of respect for her religion. And they won't. I've tried." He paused to look up at her himself before he continued, "Of course, they also say that one day she will emerge from the paintings, and wreck vengence upon they who are unfaithful, and follow the god of blood rather than faith. I, for one, won't hold my breath. Goodnight".  
  
He slipped from the room, leaving Hermione alone with the painting. Knowing the painting's history, the woman seemed all the more terribly real, angry, loathsome. What was it they say Marie means? bitter?  
  
The seconds ticked by, and Hermione had just turned away, when she heard a rustle of fabric echo in the room, much as Snape's had earlier. Except that there was no Snape there now. She looked back at the picture quickly, human rationale asserting that she was being stupid, that even if the painting had begun to move, that was perfectly normal and certainly couldn't hurt her.  
  
She looked back at the woman, at the stern scowl focused into the distance.  
  
The scowl that had been replaced by a satisfied smile.  
  
A smile that, combined with the now closed eyelids, seemed more sickeningly evil than the scowl had ever been.  
  
Hermione backed away slowly from the now completely still painting, one foot, two feet. When she had backed up three feet, several things happened.  
  
Her back met the wall of the classroom.  
  
A scream rent the air.  
  
The painting's eyes flew open again.  
  
Staring.  
  
Straight at Hermione.  
  
She flew down the corridor, and slammed straight into Snape as he ran full tilt the other way. 


	18. Rivers Run Red

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 18: Rivers Run Red  
  
A gathering crowd of students, clinging together in wisps of memory, fearing past rumors and present horrors, drifted toward the pool of light where Professor McGonagall stood, hands clasped theatrically across her thin mouth. Resting on the floor before her, torn and filthy, was a cloak- an invisibility cloak. A shredded, ravaged cloak, caked with mud and torn by a thousand sticks and spells. And before the cloak, fallen low on the floor, a scarlet bird, beaten and injured, his magical properties almost exhausted. Professor Flitwick skidded to a sudden halt behind her, and Sprout bustled up, spraying earth as she ran. A glimmer of spectacles and a flash of white hair was all that could be seen of Albus Dumbledore, as he remained behind a pillar. Loony Lovegood turned away from watching and refocused on the circle of light, choosing to believe that the Headmaster's business was his own, and that if it were of any interest she would read it next month in her father's paper.  
  
As the entire school focused its attention on the bird before them, the bird's head sank painfully down to the stone, and as its beak relaxed its efforts to remain sternly shut, a piercing whistle echoed throughout the room.  
  
"Yes, well, this is VERY interesting, isn't it, Headmaster? So, in case your intelligence isn't quite as good as mine, I will outline the salient points. I have Potter. I will soon have Weasly the Younger. You have my potion. Until now, I have tolerated your quaint little establishment. But I cannot ignore your latest transgression on my patience. Give it back, and you can have these creatures back. If you'd rather not, well, that's no loss to me."  
  
The leering voice of Voldemort, faded. As the spell the bird had carried dissolved, the high, malignant voice was heard to whisper "I'll give you a week to stew on this. If you reach the moral conclusion, which I have no doubt you will, I will know what to do. If, on the other hand, you suddenly decide to imitate an intelligent being and retrieve your wayward students, we may hope to meet on more amiable terms."  
  
McGonagall sank to the floor, her eyes showing only too clearly the horror she felt. Standing behind the pillar, Albus Dumbledore bowed his head for a moment. When he raised it, there was no longer any hint of the tired old man who hung about the school, singing the school song and seeking for a room full of chamber pots.  
  
---  
  
Severus was briefly aware of a flash of red sweater before he collided with Hermione. Until then his only thought was how it would look if he was caught in the vicinity of whatever happened to be going on right then, but by the time his head had cleared from its impact on the floor, he noticed the painfully tight grip on his arm, which, he suspected, had very little to do with the crash and rather a lot to do with emotion. Pulling back a bit, he was suddenly possessed of a feeling of sympathy for the girl. The stubborn thought line that always seemed to rest between her brows was gone, and her amber eyes were stretched as wide as they could go, the reflection in them a watery reflection of the entire hall.  
  
"oh, I....oh, professor, that painting is horrible!" she wailed, and her grip on his arm tightened, if that was possible. Severus was impressed by her unusual show of emotion, and entertained the thought of comforting her. Which still left the question of how to go about it. He patted her head awkwardly, wondering precisely how a teacher is supposed to comfort a teenage girl. He seemed to have hit on the right idea, though, as she buried her head in his shoulder and attempted to inhale his shirt. After a moment, she retreated again and permitted his arm to resume circulation. "Really, professor! I was looking at the painting, and it smiled, and then someone screamed, and it looked right at me! smiling and everything! She looked so....evil."  
  
---  
  
Hermione swore inwardly. Snape had looked sympathetic at first, but his lips had just curled up into the characteristic Snape sneer. Why did she tell him that? He was clearly thinking she was just a child. Her humiliation only increased at his words: "Are you quite sure?" She leapt to her feet, dragged him through the corridor to the room, and froze as she passed through the door again. The painting was staring sternly off into the distance, as it had before.  
  
Snape walked evenly into the room, examined the painting silently, then spun easily on his heel and added a shrug to his sneer. "I don't see anything to suggest that the painting has any malicious intent towards you, Miss Granger. Perhaps you were merely startled by the scream in the hallway? We really ought to be investigating that now."  
  
---  
  
Severus watched as Hermione's face went from embarrassed to furious. Silently, she turned and ran from the room. Girls, he thought, turning back around to face the painting again. They overreact to everything. "I bet you aren't even capable of moving, are you?" He asked the painting casually. Years of being trapped alone in the dungeons, where the woman's portrait hung in nearly every room had given him a curious sense of empathy for Mrs. Slytherin, and years of teaching in that house as well. Turning to leave, his eye was caught by a flash of red. he glanced back at the image.  
  
His eyes were as wide a Hermione's had been earlier, but it was no hallway that they reflected. The woman's outstretched hands were still clasped to tightly to see through, but in the tiny crevices of her mortal flesh, rivulets were becoming trickles, channels, rivers. Rivers that ran red with blood. 


	19. Filch

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 19: Filch  
  
Severus stalked up to the group of students where they stood whispering desperately to one another. The teachers had pushed themselves to the front of the throng, a narrow ring of authority forming what was clearly an utterly ineffectual barrier between the innocence of the students and the world of the Dark Lord, but still there, still standing. Behind them was a forest of backs, including that of Hermione Granger. Severus could have pushed through to the front, but he doubted that he could bear it. He did not belong with these students, or with these teachers, proud, ready to fight to the bitter end.  
  
The tones of Voldemort's voice had died out by the time he arrived, and the whole school stared breathless at the pillar that shaded the Headmaster's face, instinctively feeling that he was near, and seeking for a solution that could never exist.  
  
Let him stew over that for a bit, thought Severus savagely, to old familiar feeling of resentment alive in his heart. I don't know what is going on, and I have a homicidal painting in my office. I'm leaving. He was turning to go when he heard the harsh rasp of Argus Filch's voice directly behind him.  
  
"I expect you won't want to be seen at the moment, Professor." He observed, somewhere between a house elf's servility and a ghoul's delight in its latest prank. "He' fighting mad at the moment, the Headmaster is, and it wouldn't do to present a target that doesn't so much as know what's in the oven. Unless your 'lord' has told you." He smiled, showing a row of decaying teeth. "Perhaps you'd care to take a walk, professor?" 


	20. Filch's Office

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 20: Filch's Office  
  
Filch's office was the darkest and ugliest in Hogwarts, with its chains hanging from the ceilings, and its decrepit smell of age. Severus saw no glimpse of the Kwikspell packets and e-z-magic books of previous years. The time for that had passed, and now the rooms showed only bleak acceptance.  
  
The scene was far from foreign to Severus. They were old friends, the two of them. Severus remembered, when Dumbledore had just brought him back to Hogwarts, back to teach, to be trapped in the unending maze of magic and students and government officials, seeing a flash of broken teeth and a red eyed cat, watching as he took the keys from his predecessor, as he discovered the castle for the first time, looked down upon the splendor of Slytherin's secret dream for the first time.  
  
The students said that Filch knew every secret passage in the school. Indeed, it was through a way no student knew that he came to Severus that first night, offering no hope and no comfort, only understanding, only the simple knowledge that such a life may be endured.  
  
As they began, so they continued. Filch understood the mind behind Severus' sharp barbs and sneers, and accepted that this was simply the way the younger man was, had never asked for more information. It was common enough for the students to see their harsh, wretched caretaker in conversation with the cold, cruel potions master. Filch brought Snape his little pets and tales of rebellious students, and Snape- Snape knew there was one man, and one man alone at the school who knew who he truly was.  
  
A year after coming back to the school, Severus' patience broke. As he flung the last piece of furniture through the window to its end, pain erased for a moment by the sheer, mindless act of destruction, he had spun to face the door, to face the ghoulish face of the caretaker, looking oddly satisfied. "Well, now, its nice to see you let off a temper, lad. I was beginning to think you hadn't one. Doesn't do well, to just.accept life's little punishments, does it? Good to have a temper."  
  
"Well, you've damn well seen mine now!" He had roared, magic flowing through his veins, out his hands, a whirlwind of papers, quills, and ink laying waste to the room, out of his control, beyond his understanding. The well of rage, the desperate fury of a caged animal as it watches death close slowly in upon it, lashed out of his hands and spiraled on, to spend itself in a final mad dash against the unseeing stone.  
  
As Severus stood, shocked at the strength of his own temper, Filch had nodded, quietly, the rare joy gone from his face. He had seen the professor's pain, and it was no laughing matter. "That's right, lad. Let it go. Can't do you any good, but what's the point of living in hell if you don't break the rules once in a while?"  
  
Snape panted out the last of his rage and gasped, "What do you know of hell?" "Everything, lad." He replied, coolly leaning on a pillar and crossing his arms over his torn and ravened jacket. "You're nothing but a squib to Dumbledore. No matter how well you do the magic. The resistance, they're good, Voldermort's followers, they're bad. You, you're annoying, in the way, occasionally useful, but not a real person. Something to be pitied. An object. A squib." He grinned harshly, gave a single hopeless laugh. "I wouldn't fight it, if I were you. There's no going back. As for forward, I think we both know who'll win this war. And how he treats the squibs."  
  
Severus returned to the present with a start, as Filch dropped a mug of beer down before him. "What did happen?" "Ah, that Weasly boy's gone and got himself caught by your lord." Filch always called Voldermort Snape's lord, for, knowing nothing of the reasons for Snape's punishment, he knew only that the man who hated his kind was hated by Snape. "...And now he's sent the Headmaster Potter's coat." He sucked his teeth speculatively. "Invisibility cloak. Explains a lot about how that boy gets round me, sometimes."  
  
"Well. Now what am I supposed to do about this?" Snape asked the wall, annoyed. "Any answer is wrong, and in between is death and damnation. Can't save the boys cause I work for the lord, can't help the lord because I'm stuck with the boys. And if I don't." He stopped abruptly, self-censor closing his mouth again. Too late.  
  
Filch's eyes glinted again, with the elfin joy that belied his pride in his powers of perception. "About Miss Granger, professor? Why, I'd bring her the Potter boy as a present. It'd be a shame to lose such a charming little backer." In response to Snape's sharp glance, he only parted his lips further over his wretched teeth, and leaned back into the filth and desolation of his chosen residence. 


	21. The Lazy Day

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 21: The Lazy Day  
  
Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen as the sun rose the next day, as in her dormitory Hermione raised her head and tried to summon the energy to face the day, as deep in the castle, Snape continued his path, the track he was wearing across his sumptuous floor growing deeper with the weight of woe.  
  
The sun hung lazily, seeming too lethargic even to drag itself across the sky. The tepid heat of the day contrasted sharply with the barely anxiety throughout the school. Ginny Weasly crossed the dining hall floor in a haze, bumping into tables and jumping at small noises.  
  
The only place where the school did not hum with suppressed hysteria was a single darkened room.  
  
Severus opened the door to see Dumbledore standing tall, staring out the window, his hair a whispy wreath of age. He turned to acknowledge Snape, gaze sweeping over the dusty, peaceful rooms that even Potter had never seen, the inner sanctum of the greatest wizard in the world. "Severus, I thought I might be seeing you here." The potions master crossed the room, stopped a foot away. The two men stared each other down, a stiff-backed, black-clad shadow calmly watching an informal, bent old man across a table as old as the school itself.  
  
The Headmaster sighed, looked away, backed down. "He's got Harry." "Yes. And I say we let him keep the boy." Severus stopped the other man with a hand. "Why would He want to take Harry? He knows everything Harry knows anyway. Here, Potter is malleable, rebellious, useful to Him. There, Potter is dead. Why, then, would the Dark Lord offer him back? He is relatively intelligent. And He's met Potter before. He knows better than to use Harry for political gain." Inscrutable black eyes challenged Dumbledore to accept the truth. "No one would lift a finger to help this boy if you lot didn't have an absurd feeling that he is important. Let the boy fend for himself. This isn't about him. This is about you. Potter is just a tool. As of now, he is either dead or alive, and it would mean my life to try and change that. So I say, let Potter stay there."  
  
The old man turned away, shoulders bent, head bowed, whispered "He wants the potion". "No. If he wanted the potion he would torture me. He wants you to give him the potion."  
  
Severus was sick to death of having to spell out politics and psychology to his handler, a man who held his life in a very incautious hand. He opened his mouth, to repeat the words he had said again and again over the endless years-  
  
A clear, firm voice from the back of the room. "It's not that He can't take Hogwarts, you know. He just thinks he can't. Come on, how well are we defended, if it comes to that? If Voldemort ever got his head straightened out, we'd know. The school would probably fall, and Professor Snape would be dead." Hermione slipped confidently into the room, making no apology.  
  
Severus was taken aback by the girl's sudden appearance, and by her accurate assessment, but nothing matched his surprise at the haughty tone with which Albus answered her. "Indeed, Miss Grange. But, lest you missed that part of the discussion, let me inform you that your hero here would have me leave Potter there, and Weasly. Leave them there to die."  
  
"I know." It wasn't the tears in the girl's eyes that told the teachers that she meant it, but rather the way she tried to keep them from her voice. "They have to stay, or you sacrifice the only advantage you have, Headmaster." Risking a quick glance at the potions master, she flashed him a teary smile. "For once I wish I wasn't such a know it all, Professor."  
  
---  
  
Years later, Snape wasn't able to justify to himself why he went to the Death Eater's meeting that night determined to save two useless children he hated, without implicating a man he hated, all for a girl who had always hated him. 


	22. Of Meetings and Murders

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 22: Of Meetings and Murders  
  
Rain poured down in droves, trees cracked, lightning flashed. Death Eaters ran towards the tents arranged in a miserable huddle, slipping and sliding through the mud, passed their superior's tents without so much as a bow, running from the weather. A flash of light fell directly before a single tent, creating a ring of flames around it. A dark hood, a tall shape, a face as calm as glass in the face of the storm, feet that walked unconcerned through the flaming circle. A cowering white figure, condemned to serve as vassal to a creature he hated, a token of trust betrayed, following his life and his death. The Dark Lord walked abroad.  
  
Severus, inside the tent he had reached far before the others, watched as Voldermort left his tent, let it be consigned to the flames, a pointless waste, but on that must have spoken volumes about power and intimidation to the two boys tied to a stake next to the grand fire. He watched the fear and horror of a night that had no chance of dawn, the rise of evil across the world. The grand fire sprang to life, illuminating his dark eyes with eerie red light.  
  
The tall snakelike man paced back and forth before the two boys, chained back to back and pacing. Harry Potter shuddered with a pain beyond imagining, wincing with each of his captor's steps, scar glowing red. Ronald Weasly did not shake, but merely stood, pale beneath his freckles. With a smirk on his flat features, Voldermort raised a hand, and the lightning abruptly stopped. Nice parlor trick, Snape thought coldly, trying not to be impressed. "Eaters". The word was a hiss, hypnotic and seductive, a man reveling in his power. Carefully, each of the servants of evil slipped out, and walked forward to their places in the circle. "Look what Lucius has caught me! A pair of little rats. They were awfully lost, but we'll help them find their way home, won't we?" Cruel eyes focused sharply on Harry. "Are you lost, little rat? Can't you find your little hole? Won't your keepers come and find you? Dumbleodre must be terrified, you are the best weapon he is. If I kill you, he'll have to resort to throwing rocks at the big, bad bullies." The boy moaned, dark circles visible beneath his eyes, the green in their depths hidden beneath huge pupils, trying to see, trying to escape his reality.  
  
"And you, Wesley. What are you thinking right now, hmm? I bet you always did think that you'd always be safe, that Potter would do all the work, and you would just be the backup. I bet that when you get back, they will get all mad at you for endangering Potter's precious life, and forget to ask if you are hurt. Well, don't worry," His voiced changed from condescending to cold. "We won't be giving you back with Potter. We have another little weasel to catch first. If anyone in your family is brave enough to crawl out of their hole!" The death eaters laughed, and Snape was careful to laugh with them, careful to keep his eyes straight ahead, fixed on the boys. Malfoy was watching. It would not do to fall behind on his cues. "Severus! Come, tell me about the look on that old fool's face when he got the message!" The Dark Lord rose, removed his hand from Ron's shoulder, walked back into his instantly repaired tent. One by one, his servants drifted off, leaving Harry and Ron to sit out the rain together, prisoners of the faceless storm. 


	23. The Advancement of Knowledge

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 23: The Advancement of Knowledge  
  
  
Lightening flashed, cloaks rustled, wind blew. Ronald Weasly sat in silence, his mind following a track it had run a hundred times this night. Was it really my fault that Harry got caught?'   
  
---  
  
By the time Harry, hours into his headlong flight from Hogwarts school, slammed into Ron, the redhead had been on a headlong rush of his own for most of the day. Harry raised his head, far more pleased to see his friend than he would admit, but a darkened shape appeared between two trees, and he felt a rush of irrational fear, needed none of Ron's urging to rise and run again. The two boys ran together blindly, aiming for whatever space seemed to be most free of the dark shapes.  
  
A brief pause, a scramble, and the boys disappeared beneath a cloak. The footsteps passed them by, and they relaxed. Too tense to talk, they picked a direction at random, slipping swiftly through the night, beginning to feel the thrill of a successful escape, pride at beating their opponents-  
  
A foot came down, hard, on the brim of the cloak, ripping the delicate fabric before it fell completely off of the boys' shoulders.  
  
One eyebrow raised above his snakelike features, Voldermort leered down at the children. Nice cloak. Shame they don't work on me. Bending down, he lifted the shimmering silver fabric, then pulled a long, thin knife out of his robes. Pausing to make sure Harry was watching, he slowly sliced a gash through the precious fabric, then spun the ruined cloak onto his shoulders. Oops. Now it doesn't work at all. He shrugged. Another casualty to the advancement of knowledge. What did we learn here, boysssssss? That a cloak shouldn't be ripped, or that insolent brats shouldn't try to escape the power of Lord Voldemort? hmmmm?  
  
Two pale, horrified faces stared back. Two pairs of eyes darted about frantically, searching for an escape. The Dark Lord's expression turned to rage. Answer me! His blow knocked Ron to the forest floor, and all Harry could think of was escape. He spun around, slammed into Lucius Malfoy, turned again, and felt Voldermort lift him from the ground by his hair. Oh, now would you look at that? The famous Harry Potter, abandoning his friend to save his precious skin. Clearly, fame isn't everything.   
  
---  
  
Harry broke into Ron's train of thought, speaking for the first time since they'd met in the forest. Did you hear what he said? He said clearly, fame isn't everything'. Yeah, so what? He said a lot of other stuff too, and its the other stuff that's got me worried.  
  
Harry spoke with increased urgency now, his voice barely above a hushed whisper. Snape! Snape said that to me during my first potions class. Remember? Yeah, but- Ron, listen. If Voldermort uses Snape's phrases, they must be friends. He must be tricking Dumbledore. And if Snape isn't on our side, who is going to get us out of this mess? Ron didn't respond for several minuets. When he did, his face had acquired a determined look. I think that we're stuck in this alone, Harry. And maybe its our fault. We've been acting like Voldermort would just go away if we ignored him, but he won't. I reckon we have to get out of this on our own. If we get out at all  
  
---  
  
The storm continued to rage, the boys continued alone, freezing, lost in their own thoughts save when a tormentor paused to jeer at them. One particularly persistent adversary was describing precisely what would happen to them once the storm ended,when the lightening ended, though the rain returned with extra force. With then end of the crashing noises, Harry felt sleep overwhelming him, an intense desire to just rest, then and there, coupled with a deep disinterest in his surroundings. Behind him, Ron drooped, already snoring faintly. A Death Eater fell asleep where he stood, and fell out of his tent into the rain. Their tormentor's words stuttered to a slow halt, and he stood gazing dumbly down at the boys.  
  
Harry watched from behind drooping eyelids as the man swayed, a vast array of conflicting emotions passing over his face. His inner struggle continued for a few moments, before his jaw fell open, his eyes lost their focus, and he moved forward like an automaton. Nearly unconscious, Harry observed the knife the man held only seconds before the rope holding him was severed, and he fell face down in the mud. Grabbing Harry by his much-abused hair, and Ron by one arm, he dragged them slowly past the tents filled with snoring wizards.  
  
The trees loomed closer, then they were all about him, scraping his neck as he was dragged along. Abruptly, the wizard stopped and dropped the children in the mud, then stood blinking dully. A whispered spell met his ears, as did the sound of the man falling.   
  
---  
  
The sense of painful exhaustion was passing slowly. Harry sat up stiffly, feeling his sore limbs again, and heard Ron moan into the ground beside him. Rubbing his eyes, Harry was suddenly grabbed again, and dragged to his feet alongside Ron. Wake up! hissed a silk-smooth voice in his ear. Its no easy feat, to put an entire camp of Death Eaters off their guard, and they'll be after us soon enough, so move. Beside Harry, Snape gave the closest he ever got to a smile. Yes, Potter, its me. Maybe now you'll finally stop thinking I'm the enemy. His voice grew stern again. But I'll not be risking my neck for you again, so start moving!


	24. A Walk in the Woods

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 24: A Walk in the Woods  
  
Harry struggled to keep up with Snape's long strides without tripping over Ron, who was still being dragged by his teacher. So, Dumbledore ordered you to bring us back, right? Snape snorted, but limited his response to a blunt Harry looked up at him, surprised, he seemed sincere enough, or at least as sincere as he ever appeared. Why did you rescue us, then? Snape stopped so suddenly that Ron continued forward and fell with a thud to the forest floor, then staggered upright, finally seeming to wake up a bit. Stalking forward until he stood well inside of Harry's comfort zone, he bent low until the boy was staring directly into ice cold, black eyes. The sensation of depth sickened him for a moment, and he was overcome with a sudden feeling of despair. I saved you out of the kindness of my heart, Potter, when everyone was all for leaving you there. So, perhaps I might now be allowed a little freedom from imbecile teenagers and their foolish questions? His lip curled in unmistakable disdain. Good. Now, let's go.  
  
Moments later, though it felt like an eternity to Harry, they arrived at a door standing completely alone in the forest. It was covered in dirt, and a vine was beginning to climb up the side of the frame, a testament to how long it had been standing there. Snape ripped a key from a chain around his neck , and used it to open the door. Harry gasped. Through the door, he could see the familiar turrets of Hogwarts school. Ron didn't speak, just stared at the school with longing in his eyes. Harry tore his eyes away from the door, to ask Snape, Why is this here? Surely it would be easier for you to just apparate near the school, and walk back? Snape looked down at him with narrowed eyes. You surprise me, Potter. Just two years, and you don't recall how difficult it is to walk after receiving the cruciatus curse? Your mind must be worse than I thought. Now get in there. Beside him, Ron whispered softly, It's so...beautiful. So peaceful, so incredibly fragile.  
  
A loud crash sounded through the trees as Harry helped Ron through the door. What's that? he whispered to Snape, who still stood outside the door frame, wand ready. My alibi, Potter. I have to account for my absence somehow. So, I let a few people see Thomas here drag you off, and now I shall kill him. Its a damned waste of a good man, but I suppose you are too self-centered to care. I should run to the castle if I were you. My Lord will probably send Eaters after you, and I doubt Weasly here is equal to the task of beating them off.  
  
The last thing Harry saw before he shut the door and ran for the castle was Snape, being struck by the Death Eater's spell, and falling to his knees.  
  
---  
  
The school fell silent as Harry and Ron ran headlong into the great hall. Looking up into Dumbledore's face as he rose, Harry realized that Snape had indeed been telling them the truth. The Headmaster had not arranged for their rescue. The pain from that realization lasted all through the tidal wave of joy that followed him for the next few hours, past Professor McGonagall, past Cho Chang and Luna Lovegood, and past the shining eyes of Hermione, who for some reason kept shouting I knew it! I knew he'd do it!, all the way into the infirmary, two soft beds, and two steaming goblets of melted chocolate.  
  
---  
  
Snape allowed the first blow to strike him in the waist. The impediment charm slowed his reaction, but not for nothing had the Snapes been master duelers for centuries. His own spell caught Thomas on the arm. Why are you doing this, Severus? The man panted after he had finished spinning around. Well, I've been thinking it over, and I've decided mine is an empty life, so I decided to end it in a suitably dramatic fashion, he observed. For all the sarcasm in his voice, his words were close enough to the truth that Thomas paused and looked at him. I was joking, Thomas. I came to that conclusion years ago, and look how little good its done me, he snapped, spreading his arms in an expansive gesture, and trying not to remember that day, all those years ago.  
  
---  
  
A single man, standing all alone on a ledge, staring down into the darkness, so ready to jump, so ready to end his life, disgrace his family, end his line. Anything was better than living, anything was better than going back into that horrible school, to the rooms that Dumbledore had shown him earlier, into the hidden lands he had found on his own, lands of glitter and shine and the stench of defeat, the reek of despair. Five minuets in those rooms, and he would go mad, he knew it, and so he leapt into the cold, harsh night air, conceding defeat with every ounce of pride he possessed. Severus Snape had stared into the face of life, and had seen his own death. He would accept that without complaint. The fall was bliss, until the spell that grabbed him, pulled him back to that ledge, until Dumbledore gripped him by the shoulder, and hissed in his ear, I saved you from a life in Azkaban. You would not have lived twenty years in there, but I, I gave you life, and now you must live it. Twenty years, Severus, that's what I bought you, and that's all I ask. Twenty years to aid me, and then you may do as you wish. Twenty years.  
  
---  
  
The memory faded, and Snape's cold eyes focused back on the young Death Eater before him. This man was a true follower of Voldemort, a true devotee, who had the unfortunate weakness of mind that allowed Severus to control him easily. Severus respected him for his faith, and envied him for his certainty. A life of moral absolutes was beyond his grasp now, as was all else that he desired, except one face, a face he had last seen in tears, covered now in smiles. That one thing, he might have for himself, and so he raised his wand, ready to destroy one man's life, in return for one moment of happiness.   
  
I'm going to have to kill you, Thomas. Its a shame, but necessary nonetheless. You have done your family honor. A burst of flames destroyed the young man's horror-stricken face, and Severus wept as he turned his wand upon himself to complete his alibi.  
  
Voldermort and his followers found Snape, wracked by the cruciatus curse that the traitor Thomas had put upon his faithful servant just before he took the blood-traitor's life. After the curse was lifted, Snape gasped, between heavy sobs, You are betrayed, my lord. And now the boys are gone. Walking the line between outright lies and deadly truths, Snape knelt before the most powerful man in the world, and was granted the signal privilege of kissing his hand before he returned to the school.


	25. Lost

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 25: Lost  
  
A harsh red light from the approaching dawn created dark, menacing shadows as Severus walked back to the castle. He would have noted how perfectly the day matched his mood if he had not been so busy trying not to limp. A faint buzz of interest was still running around the school at Harry Potter's latest return, a ripple of sound that swirled around the potions master as he stood in the hallway, then died away, leaving him utterly alone.   
  
He strode up to the gargoyle that barred Dumbledore's office from the rest of the school, slipped inside, and was arranged neatly in a chair, a contemptuous sneer on his face, by the time the Headmaster returned from the infirmary.   
  
I don't suppose you are planning to tell me why you went after them?  
  
Not as such, no.  
  
Not only did you convince me to leave them there, but you, knowing my decision, deliberately freed them anyway, and now you will not tell me why? Some would call that insubordination, Severus.  
  
Tell it to the Minister. I'm sure he would be only too happy to lock me up. I seem to recall that you did not favor that option at the time.  
  
The old man sighed faintly. I would never imprison you against your will.  
  
Really? That's an interesting statement, when you consider how long I've been trapped in this castle. Nearly twenty years, if I'm correct.  
  
Dumbledore didn't move a muscle. He had said those words, years ago, to keep the man from jumping. He had assumed that the natural curiosity, the incredible mind that lent Severus his sharp tongue, and his aristocratic tendencies would overcome his pain and despair, given time. Twenty years later, and the only actual improvement in the potion master's mood was the day he'd finally stopped throwing things at staff members who tried to chat.  
  
A single sharp movement, and Snape leaned across the desk, his words cold and precise. This is your warning. Three months, and then you can fight your own bloody war. I don't know where I'll go, but I won't be taking any more orders from you, old man.  
  
Then we will lose.  
  
Severus laughed contemptuously. You will lose, and you always would have. He is taking over America. He has captured Africa. They worship him as a god there, did you know that? The African muggles worship him. He has showed muggles that wizards exist, and those muggles will seek to kill you. With guns. He was always going to win, and it becomes increasingly clear that you cannot survive this. He will not make the error he made before, and even if you completely destroy his body and spirit, it will become increasingly difficult to undo that which he has done with every passing day. You are sitting in a fortress, but even here, it is getting dark.  
  
He was halfway to the door to his personal passage before he added, Three months!  
  
Slipping into the passageway, he tripped over Hermione Granger, curled up in the passage, eyes huge. I got lost. She said. There are many passages.  
  
Looking at the girl, Severus felt an inexplicable emotion. I lost my way years ago. He said, with a small, sad smile lost in the endless dark. There are many fates, and I picked the wrong one it seems.  
  
But you are not lost alone.


	26. The Next Day

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 26: The Next Day  
  
Harry lay, eyes squeezed tightly shut as Madame Pomfrey shooed the last of his visitors from the room. Now Dumbledore will come, he thought wearily. Now Dumbledore will come and tell me what a fool I am.   
  
But he did not come.  
  
Ron lay in a bed on the opposite side of the room, grateful for once that he was not Harry. Looking over at the curtained bed where his older brother lay, his ravings suppressed under a drugged sleep, he thought of the story he had forced out of Hermione the day after George had been found, and of the details she refused to tell. Motionless, he wondered what has happened to my family? How can we ever survive this war?  
  
---  
  
In the night, long after the two boys had fallen asleep, George Weasly awoke, pulled on his slippers, and wandered dazedly through the halls of the school, down to the dungeons where Hermione Granger organized the papers she had neglected during the boys' absence, and down, beneath the school, where a single man sat in his dark room, Lord Voldemort's cat at his feet, and a single flicker of joy in his heart.  
  
---  
  
Severus sat before his fire, idly petting Zaire and staring into the flames as he waited for the effects of the Cruciatus to subside.  
  
A sudden thud, a slam of the door.  
  
Severus got slowly to his feet, watching George Weasly, as he swayed on his feet. Silence stretched between two men with no words to describe that which they had both experienced.  
  
Without moving, Severus whispered, He won't come back. He can never come back. George's wearied air of serenity faltered. He is dead. Your curiosity killed him. Do not look to me for comfort or revenge. Go back to your bed. You will find no redemption here.  
  
---  
  
All that George could see was his brother, dead. All he could hear was Fred's voice, casual, indifferent to his brother's concern about the potion they had found. He had listened to George arguing for taking it to a potion expert, instinctively guessing that it was dangerous. Fine. If its so dangerous, we'll just memorize it, then recite it to an expert. But be quick about it, I want to get back to Hogsmede before the pubs close. Fred had grabbed it, and reeled off the last half of the instructions, flaunting his talent for effortless memorization. George had shrugged it off, and eventually forgotten about the potion. One rarely found academic experts in Hogsmede to bother with irrelevant questions.  
  
He stumbled off, and leaned wearily against the wall in the hallway. Burying his face in his hands, he gave up altogether and slumped down to the ground.  
  
Draco Malfoy left his common room, headed for his usual nocturnal walks, the places he could forget his name, his father, and his enemies. Ten minuets later, he stepped right on George Weasly, and found that he could never escape his father.


	27. George

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 27: George  
  
Geroge was exhausted, George was lost, and George was dying. Always with his brother in his life, always together, brilliant, cheerful, taking nothing seriously, irritating the grownups who had seen hardship and difficulty by never letting anything touch them. Sneaking into secret meetings, benefiting, winning galleons from Harry Potter and the Dark Lord, they had set out to play the game of life for fun. They had promised each other, lost in the forest, with Ginny asleep beside them and Death Eaters dangling muggles far above, that they would not be terrified, not be afraid. When the Dark Lord touched their lives, they would fight him off. They would never give in, and so they would never be hurt like their parents.  
  
But there were so many of them. Twenty, thirty, easily, wands out, striking with magic and with their bare hands, doing their duty, but taking their pleasure from it too, from two boys who should have known enough to be afraid. A ring of faceless assassins.  
  
Outside the ring, within sight but worlds away, in the open, in safety, two men apparated, discovered that they had not found the Dark Lord, but only one of his raiding parties. Severus Snape was distracted, nervous. He did not look, merely swearing vaguely and vanishing again.  
  
But Lucius Malfoy did stop to look. Wearied with travelling, disinterested in the extreme, he paused to look into the face of the two boys. A hooded man inquired about the trip; Lucius answered. Casual pleasantries, nothing more. Casual pleasantries as George realized that his brother would not live to leave that clearing again.  
  
And it was that thought that carried him with rare force through the ring, bestial force and beater-trained muscles that slammed him past his assailants and into the night.  
  
It was that thought that carried him to his feet, into an attack on Draco Malfoy, who looked so remarkably like his father. They said Harry looked just like James, but Draco wasn't just similar to his father; he was identical. Only the look of shock on his face was his mother's; Lucius would never have let his guard down long enough to reveal his surprise. 


	28. Narcissa

One Young Heart  
  
Chapter 28: Narcissa  
  
"A broken jaw." Ron was disbelieving. "A broken jaw and that git gets to go home for two weeks? If I broke my jaw, I'd get a note from mum warning me to keep up with my studies."  
  
"I don't think is was the broken jaw so much as George accusing him of being a murderous Death Eater, Ron" was Hermione's patient reply. "He was emotionally hurt."  
  
"You don't think that Draco may have noticed his father is a heartless git sometime during his life?" "I think he probably gets very mixed messages, and if he takes his father's side, it's because he was raised to take his father's side. Really, Ron, he may be awful, but growing up as a Malfoy can't have been pleasant. Try to see his side of the thing." Ron flopped unhappily down on the window-seat of Gryffindor common room, and stared moodily out into the rain. Hermione glanced up, rolled her eyes, and refocused on her book. "Draco's been gone all week, Ron. Why don't you just enjoy his absence?"  
  
"And there's something going on, too, have you noticed?" He asked, clinging stubbornly to his bad mood. "Half the teachers are gone. McGonalgall, Dumbledore, even Snape." "Well, we all know where they are. And no one's gone out of their way to enlighten us this year." Harry was facing the opposite direction, in a leather chair close to the fire. He continued to draw into himself, continues to be frustrated by Dumbledore's silence on the subject of Voldermort. For one always treated as an exception to the rule, being normal rankled. "He's back to treating us like kids."  
  
"Good." Hermione spoke briskly, making a last ditch attempt to cheer one of the two up. "Then maybe we won't have a near death experience this week." She rose. "Now, who wants to play chess? I warn you, I've been practising. No more easy victories." She neglected to mention that she had been practicing with Snape.  
  
---  
  
Outside Grimwauld Place, the rain had decreased to a sullen drizzle, oozing water onto the vegetation. Inside, a large group of conspirators huddled around a table, Snape disdainfully leaning against a table, with Dumbledore also standing clear of the crushed table, and the intense questioning of George Weasley.  
  
In the kitchen, his mother tried to ease her anxiety by cooking, surrounding herself in a whirlwind of pots and pans. Through the sizzle of bacon and clang of utinsels, she heard Mr. Weasly trying to reason with George, who would provide no information other than a steady, ceaseless desire to kill Lucius Malfoy.  
  
"Now, George, you have to understand that Mr. Malfoy is a very powerful man, and we simply can't arrest him. Even if you could prove this, he would be able to keep us mired in bureaucracy for years, and we'd be forced to hold him in Azkaban. And we both know that wouldn't do any good. You need to accept that he is a villain, he will get his comeuppance, and above all, you need to rest."  
  
Snape watched George getting increasingly frustrated with Mr. Weasly's patronizing tone, then observed. "You'll never catch him. He's charmed his mark to be invisible. They all have now. The identification of a Death Eater will soon be well nigh impossible."  
  
---  
  
Pureblood inheritance laws are impossibly complex at best, and incomprehensible at their worst. The ending of a great pureblood family is such a momentous event that it can take years for an estate to find the next proper owner. By disinheriting families with muggle-born members, those who favour equality among wizards, those who quarrelled with the family, those who married an enemy family or, heaven forbid, an American pureblood, the wills of great wizarding families contain thousands of clauses. In the end though, this particular estate passed up blood-traitors and Voldermort supporters alike to come within a year to the desk of Narcissa Malfoy.  
  
Narcissa Malfoy was paper-thin, straight, and proud. She had done well for herself, and might have done still better. A great beauty in her day, she had been courted as the most eligible bride for the two greatest pureblooded families, and might have married as high a personage as Severus Snape if she had wished it.  
  
But Narcissa was proud of her looks, and, as she told her father, "Severus is so unsociable. I don't want a husband who will be locked away with his cauldrons all day. I want to go to parties, and plays."  
  
So it was Lucius Malfoy who won Narcissa to be his trophy, and she would soon regret it. Locked away in the most beautiful and modern of the pureblood estates, surrounded by jewels and silk, she realized that Snape, while he might have been indifferent to her and her friends, would have let her go and do what she liked. He knew better than to beat his prizes. Narcissa had not seen the sky since Draco left for school, the only indulgence Lucius had ever granted her; to send her son to a school nearby, and to let her see him off on the train.  
  
So it was that when she received the rich cream paper of the deed, and the letter requesting that she examine the estate and verify her possession of it, she sent her son, home ill, to run an errand for his mother, mistress and captive of the most beautiful prison in the world.  
  
Draco was glad enough to go; he enjoyed vacations because his father let him go abroad and stay with his friends whenever possible, and had even endured Crabbe and Goyle for a time last year, not for the chance to stay alone in his cold marble home, where his father was too busy and his mother too afraid to talk to him. A conversation with Lucius inevitably turned into a discussion of his faults anyway, so when his mother handed him the deed he set out, and was soon standing outside what promised to be a typical wizard property; hidden, ill-maintained on the outside, but promising stodgy elegance inside.  
  
He entered his mother's new property, and pushing through the dark hallway, shoved open the first door he came to.  
  
One blond head stared in at a warm dining room, full of talking people. In the corner was Severus Snape. In the centre was the Order of the Phoenix. 


End file.
